Wistful Wanderlust

Transitions

2011-09-11T10:41:00.000-06:00

Found this old thing. Wrote it in September. Publishing it now. *Shrug*

Hello?

Hello-o-o-o-o-o-o....

Pssssst.... You out there? *cough cough*

It's dusty in here.

I forgot about this place. Well, I didn't entirely forget, because I've recently gotten several requests that I blog again. I even received an extremely poignant compliment from my grouchy-and-cynical cousin who said he enjoyed my blog because he never gets to read good writing and he appreciates it when he sees it. Picture me, humbled and speechless.

Ask my Facebook friends, I don't do speechless.

And then my friend Kristin and her new Professional Writers Group had to go and woo me into doing seven hours of events at their book fair yesterday, including reading some of my own original poetry (who knew?) and I had several people approach me afterwards with kind words and feedback about my writing.

I love to write. But writing is time-consuming. I found that the more I wrote about our lives and our unschooling, the less I was living my life and unschooling. Something had to give.

And yet you gotta scratch the itch.

Emotions are a'tumble today as I sit here, missing my son who moved out 6 weeks ago - the one who was supposed to COME HOME AND VISIT HIS MAMA this weekend but didn't - and listening to the heart-breaking anniversary coverage of 9-11.

Life.
Death.
Growth.
Loss.
Transition.

Brady's departure was sudden and quite unexpected. He had plans to travel this fall, to Oregon, to Vermont, and back again. He had plane tickets in hand, and itineraries mapped out with friends. And then we got an email about a job in film. He sent his resume (after first writing it in a frenzy), got a callback, interviewed, got the job, and moved out - all within the span of about 5 days. And just like that, my oldest child was launched.

The job is going well (so well he DIDN'T COME HOME TO SEE HIS MAMA THIS WEEKEND) and it promises opportunities in faraway lands like Los Angeles and beyond, if only his parents in the cornfields can wrap their heads around it enough to help him get there.

Brady called a few days ago to talk about finding an apartment in LA. Right after I puked up a little bit in my mouth, I peppered him with questions. I asked about the seriousness of this job option, if this was the track he was sure he wanted to take. I explained what a 'sublet' is, and then told him to quit this nonsense and come back home right this minute and sit in his room for 13 hours a day playing World of Warcraft.

Wait, what?

It wasn't all that long ago that Brady had a mini-meltdown in our kitchen. He claimed he wasn't an extrovert like me, that he didn't know how to talk to people like I do, that breaking into groups was uncomfortable for him and there were opportunities he'd missed because he was shy.

My first question, haven't you been watching me all this time? Dude, I can talk the pants off a rock. (If rocks wore pants.) Some things you learn by exposure. But in this case, he needed more explicit advice, so I gave him some pointers.

A few months later he got a job in the filmmaking industry because, among other things, "he was comfortable" with the interviewers and they liked him. This, about my boy who doesn't know how to talk to people.

Sometimes all it takes is the right motivation.

Because we don't subscribe to the one-size-fits-all model of school, there is little pressure to learn, grow and evolve on a timeline set by someone else. Just as he didn't have to learn to long-divide in 2002 because he turned 9 years old, he isn't pressured to do other things because he crossed some invisible, arbitrarily-set age line. He started community college at age 15 (because he wanted to) but doesn't have plans to start university until age 20, maybe, possibly, and even that is simply one option on an ever-expanding list of possibilities. And this job tosses all previous plans out the window.

Usually, when my boys transition, it's practically overnight. Often, stages seem to last longer than they might if they were in school (where you MUST transition when they say so), and it can sometimes seem like "he'll never get past this" but then suddenly..... he does. Just like that. I'm still continually amazed in these unschooling moments by how things evolve when we are able to honor our own timelines. It's not always convenient, for sure - it would've been far better if he'd felt this confidence earlier, to help him with other situations that caused him angst - but in this case it happened when it needed to. And it was as if someone lifted the old Brady and replaced him with the new, more confident version.

School imprisons children by severely restricting their movement and ability to make choices for themselves. So much so that if you ask most high school graduates what their plans are, what they want to do, most don't know. And how could they? They've had no time to dabble, to try things on to see what fits, discover what they like, what they don't like. Most insulting, during high school, the years when they ought to be transitioning toward more and more independence, they're still treated as children: told what to do and when, told just how many pages their essays should be, and given only "controlled choice." And if they rebel? Troublemakers.

With unschooling, the transitions are all natural. Restrictions that are imposed occur authentically - a resume that must be turned in by the end of the day, registration that ends on Wednesday at 5pm, a bus that leaves with or without you. We don't see the need to create arbitrary rules and restrictions. Life provides plenty of those.

And Brady, who not so long ago "couldn't talk to people," evolved overnight into a young man who could not only talk to people, but talk his way into his dream job.

Go figure.

Rob and I are feeling a bit afloat during this kids-moving-out transition. Jonathan is only 15, but Brady's sudden departure showed us that things can change in a heartbeat. As we sat at side-by-side laptops, largely ignoring each other, Rob said "we'll need to be more interesting."

But all is as it should be. The 9-11 anniversary coverage reminds me that not all transitions are happy ones; many aren't chosen but thrust upon us. I'm feeling grateful this morning, that even though some transitions are more painful than others, we are free to explore this life on our own terms.

I can't think of a better preparation for "real life" than living in the real world all along.

I am THAT Mom

2010-07-27T09:48:00.004-06:00

I'm gonna dust off the ol' blog so I can join in on the unschooling bloggie fun.... thanks for the prompt!

I am That Mom....

I am that mom who still gets hugs from her teenage boys; and knows when a hug isn't welcome and respects that without reading into it. (Like today, when dropping Jonathan off for his first day of football camp. All throughout the gymnasium moms were filling their sons' ears with last-minute instructions, trying to hug them, brushing their hair out of their eyes, while their sons brushed away their hands, rolled their eyes, and practically crawled out of their skin with each doting embrace. How can they find the inner strength to tackle a day of football camp among total strangers when mom's attention is all soft and schmoopy?)

I am that mom who doesn't flinch when her child tells her he wants to cut his hair into a mohawk, or learn to ride a motorcycle, or promote hemp oil as a cancer cure, or sleep behind the couch for three months straight. I am that mom who sees her kids' interests and desires, no matter how unusual or dangerous, as valid, worthy, and do-able.

I am that mom who says, "How can we make this happen?"

I am that mom who gets physically and emotionally ill when I witness (or even hear about) a parent shame, berate, or threaten her child. I am that mom who some days can't go out in public because I'm not strong enough to navigate such interactions. I am that mom who, on those days, feels overwhelmed with gratitude for my relationship with my children.

I am that mom whose child says, "some of my friends need an escape, which makes sense. But I love my life and I love the people in it, and I can't relate to the need for escape."

I am that mom whom other parents thought (and some, probably, still think) was the irresponsible one, the one who'd "pay for it later" when my kids ran wild, became disrespectful, or couldn't function in public due to my "hands-off style" of parenting. I am that mom who knew all along that wasn't true. I am that mom who watches those controlling, authoritative, drastic-measures, zero-tolerance, 'my way or the highway' parents struggle today. I am that mom from whom they now seek advice. Advice I begin with "It's never too late."

I am that mom who knows that because I listened before passing judgement, my kids talk to me. That because I don't over-react, my kids trust me. That because I have no hard and fast rules, my kids seek my advice and input.

I am that mom who believes in 'people over principles' and 'relationship first' and 'everything is negotiable.' EVERYTHING.

I am that mom who will end friendships if they are detrimental to our family's well-being. I am that mom who understands that her children choose their friendships for their own reasons. I am that mom who will tell you to back down if you are infringing on my child's sense of self. I am also that mom who will empathize with YOU when you struggle, when you hurt, and when you want to be better.

I am that mom who can go from setting a proper table to having a sock-throwing fight (ewwwww, nasty!); from scrubbing a floor on hands and knees to watching the "most amazing video game replay ever"; from talking to listening at the moment it's necessary.

I am that mom who believes nothing - NOTHING - is more important than this family. Who'd live in a cardboard box before she gave up a minute of these growing-up years.

I am THAT mom.

Any questions? :)

All in a Day's Work

2010-06-24T13:02:00.004-06:00

Let's try this - random snapshot views of our charmed life.

Brady and I Changed his First Flat Tire

2010-02-18T20:41:00.007-06:00

I keep my cellphone on vibrate most of the time, so I didn't get Brady's text that he had a flat tire. Rob finally reached me a while later, and since he was out of town, I donned my "rescue persona" - a mix of "I'm coming to help you, honey!" and "Dangnabit, I'm not in the mood for this" - and headed out, after changing into clothes I didn't mind getting dirty. Brady's never changed a flat before, so I had visions of me doing most of it, teaching my boy how it's done, getting my hands dirty.

So this is where I think I'm still needed. "Here, let me show you how to do the jack."

"I know how to do the jack, Mom."

"Well, maybe I should make sure it doesn't slip."

"It won't slip, Mom."

"The last time I tried to change a tire, I couldn't get the lug nuts off so I had to get help. But for the record, I KNOW how to change a tire. Don't think I play 'helpless female' because I don't."

"Ok, Mom."

Brady's friend, Joe Convoulsion Bubenzer, smiles nervously.

"See? Those lug nuts are a b*tch to get off, aren't they? We might need help."

"I'll get it, Mom."

"I wonder if there's a service station nearby?"

"Mom, I'll GET it."

"Wow, you got it. How do you know how to change a tire anyway?"

"I watched Dad once."

"Need me to get anything for you?"

"Nope."

Ho hum... la dee dah.... *twiddles thumbs*...

"I'll put the flat in the trunk for you."

"Ok, Mom, you do that."

So I did.

"Why did I drive all the way up here?"

"Because I didn't have a jack."

So I WAS needed after all.

Nicely done, Brady, nicely done.

Well, Hello There

2010-02-09T09:11:00.002-06:00

Hello all you new readers. Um, where did y'all come from? Oh that's right, my blog was listed in the latest statewide H.O.U.S.E. newsletter, wasn't it. I forgot all about that since it seems like ages ago that Pamela asked if she could use my blog to jumpstart that section. I haven't written much lately, so I kinda cringed about being listed. Sending folks to a quiet blog probably isn't the best way to generate excitement.

But I've written lots in the past about unschooling. Check the sidebar for category LABELS such as 'Unschooling Q&A' or 'An Unschooler Goes to School' about Brady's year of private college-preparatory high school after eight years of radically unschooling, or if you're in the mood to laugh check out 'Cornfield Country' or 'Family Farm.' And if you want to know why this isn't a food blog, check out 'Why I'm Not a Food Blogger.'

And now, because you're likely here because you're an IL homeschooler, be sure to check out my one post about last year's InHome Conference - it's not comprehensive by any means, nor a review, nor a plug as publicity chair (bad publicity chair! Bad!). It's a bunch of goofy pictures of us having a good old time. Be sure to pop on over to the InHome site and register - it's always fun fun FUN! I was in charge of workshops for kids ages 10 and up, so I've been very involved this year and it's going to be a great year. John Taylor Gatto is coming! If you go, if you see me, say hi or introduce yourself. I'm a Chatty Patty and love to meet new peeps.

For now, I'm at the UWWG, where I'm scheduled to speak tomorrow on 'Seasoned Unschoolers' (wait - does that just mean I'm OLD?) and Thursday on 'An Unschooler Goes to School.' We're having a grand old time.

Coffee calls. And Gatto. And waterslides. And more chatting. Woot!

Hello? Is it Really You?

2009-12-14T08:38:00.004-06:00

Wow, it's been two months - TWO WHOLE MONTHS! - since I've written on my blog. It seems my passion for blogging has all but disappeared, I'm sorry to say. I'll keep it - I've met so many great people this way, and there's too much writing on here to just hit the delete button and banish it forever, but posting has been spotty at best and unless I have a sudden change of heart, I doubt that will change. I'm on Facebook - not a lot, but I'm there. And I'll be speaking at the UWWG in Ohio and Life is Good in May - perhaps we'll meet up?

In other news, life in the cornfields is great. Brady is exploring industry requirements for computer programming and game creation so he knows what secondary education route to pursue. He's working at Subway, taking Community College classes, and teaching programming to homeschoolers.

Jonathan is taking sax lessons, karate lessons, and art lessons. He's writing a book about Chewy McBuckBuck, a schizophrenic beaver, and knows more about football and football history than most adults. He is a happy kid, every day. Rob has an exciting new venture at work coming up but I can't share it yet because it's still a secret. He's teaching karate to several friends and cousins every week in our basement and loves getting back into it.

We're all doing p90x together. That's been fun and challenging. Sometimes my *ss hurts so badly I wonder why our house suddenly has so many stairs? I've started providing personal training for clients at our fitness center, so with teaching, training, and doing p90x, I'm wearing way more spandex than should be allowed, and feel like all I ever do is squat-and-reach and count in sets of 8.

Oh, and.... just in case you're wondering, our marriage is a still a smoldering volcano of torrid passion it's always been. See? This was taken just yesterday by my mom's new husband, Gordy.

Hope you and yours are well! If you haven't already, find me on Facebook and let's keep in touch there!

Good Morning!

2009-10-13T08:08:00.004-06:00

Good Tuesday morning! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and other than an achy hip which has translated into an achy knee on the other leg as I over-compensate (running is hard on a grrrl), I am feeling wide awake, chipper, and alive! Somedays you feel like grabbing life by the fistful and diving right in. Sometimes you feel like you have unlimited options, like the sky's the limit, like the world is your oyster.

Oh wait.

And somedays reality just smacks ya right upside the head.

I can still live large... I can still revel in the day's endless possibilities... I can still be joyful and optimistic...

Right after I clean up this mess. Good morning indeed. Or 'twas a good night, if you're a raccoon living in cornfield country.

Another Reason to Unschool

2009-10-01T22:59:00.002-06:00

In July, Jonathan turned 13. One of the gifts he received from a friend was juggling balls and a homemade instructional DVD of his friend demonstrating and explaining some basic juggling moves. Jonathan was thrilled. He practiced diligently. He consulted his friend Eli for help whenever he got stuck, or whenever he was ready to learn a new trick.

He juggled for hours every day. He looked up juggling instructions on the internet. He invited Eli over more often than usual so they could juggle together. He brought his juggling balls along when we went places.

Eight weeks later - only eight weeks - he was good enough to be asked to juggle at a Renaissance Faire in Monroe, WI.

What does juggling have to do with unschooling? Unschooling means we help our children pursue their interests, we support them in their passions, we assist in whatever ways they need. And in doing so, our children learn. Juggling isn't listed in the "scope and sequence" section of any curriculum, I know, but anyone can see that he's learning many things in addition to juggling. He's researching, committing to a task, challenging himself, and setting goals for himself. He's reading about juggling, networking with other jugglers, and applying his juggling knowledge to real life situations.

Unschooling, really, means we live life fully, without worrying about all those schoolish terms above. But rest assured, all those schoolish things are happening, all the time. We just don't name them and quantify them and demand they happen in a specific order on a specific timeline.

If school were to teach juggling, it would be broken down into a easily-measured objectives. You might have to learn specific steps and do them in a specific way and a specific order, proving you've mastered each level before you can move on to the next. You might be tested on it to prove you've learned something. You might not get to touch the juggling balls during the first few lessons. You might only get to read about it, or use something easier to juggle like scarves that waft slowly through the air. Your juggling skills, or at least participation or attention to the lessons or willingness to cooperate, would be graded.

By that time, juggling has become very very un-fun.

Unschoolers just start juggling.

And sometimes, if they like it, they continue juggling and find themselves performing a juggling act on stage at a Renaissance Faire in front of strangers.

I Brake for Yard Sales

2009-09-30T22:47:00.000-06:00

Listen carefully, I have some very important advice for you.

You must - MUST - stop at yard sales.

You never - NEVER - know what you'll find.

A beautiful antique floor lamp, a backpack, a decorative candle....

Two goofy costumes made out of cardboard and paint....

If you never stop, you'll never happen upon a find like these. And then you'll never be able to come home, make your 16 yr old and husband dress up in them and make fools of themselves in the yard.

And that'd just be a real shame.

Another Farm Fiasco Part II

2009-09-29T22:00:00.001-06:00

Hey ~~cows!~~ readers! Remember part I of the Great Escape story? Here's part II. The part where I save the day. Seriously!

From my sister's blog I quote, "[She] saved the day, I tell you." In italics.

Nevermind it was after a thinly veiled criticism of my tendency to talk a lot. But hey, it was my ability to talk a lot that saved the day. In italics.

(I kinda like this whole 'someone else writes my blog posts' thing.)

Hey cow - Who you lookin' at, huh? After all that, I'm done taking any crap from you bovines, ya hear? Done.

I think we've been going too easy on them. Gotta show 'em who's boss. This oughta intimidate 'em: You think?

Ten Things Overheard at Grandma's Birthday Party

2009-09-28T14:49:00.003-06:00

1.
Grandma: "I'm an old lady now. That means I can't remember words."

2.
Mom: "That was a long time ago."
Grandma: "It wasn't THAT long ago, it was only like 30 years ago."

3.
Grandma, talking about a high school boyfriend: "He must've been gay. In two years the only time he touched me was when we were dancing."

4.
Grandma: "Back then we didn't say gay, you know. We just said he was 'different.'"

5.
Grandma, receiving a gift wrapped in a plastic bag: "Is this a dead chicken?"
Jackie, the gift giver: "Yes, as a matter of fact it is."

(Note: It WAS a dead chicken.)
(Yes way.)

6.
Grandma: "A dead chicken for an old hen!"

7.
Me to Grandma: "Here's MY gift. Dead beets."

8.
Grandma: "Dead beets from a bunch of deadbeats."

9.
Jackie doing a 5-minute impression of her horse after taking a big bite of a jalapeno plant in the garden.

10.
Aunt Susan: "You know what they say, if my boobs were any longer they'd be nuts."

and a bonus:

11.
Gordy: "I think football in the other room is calling. Please excuse me."

Google Likes Me! They Really Really Like Me!

2009-09-21T19:55:00.003-06:00

Did you know that if you search for "Boots in the 80's," my blog comes up as the first option of 3,010,000? I thought you might want to know. And here's why.

I think it should somehow be my new tagline...

"Wistful Wanderlust.... Your Place for Useless Knowledge"

Another Farm Fiasco

2009-09-18T11:40:00.004-06:00

"Now where'd did that d*mn steer go?!?"

We had another eventful weekend on the farm, but this time it wasn't my fault! I wasn't involved! I am completely innocent of any and all wrong-doing!

Ok, I did inadvertently allow that one rogue steer to crash through the fence (as opposed to jumping over, like a sane animal might do) and escape into a 100 acre cornfield, but that's only because after racing him up and down the fence line he finally decided to show me who's boss and put on the steam.

Sounds like a new tv game show - "Are You Faster than a 1000 lb. Steer?"

In a word, no. No, no I'm not.

I'd love to tell you the whole story, but I've got a busy weekend ahead. I'll let my sister regale you with the details. Besides, it's her farm, they're her steers, and it's about time one of the farm fiascos happened while she was in town rather than out, leaving us dopes in charge. (Wishing now you'd've booked that exotic Caribbean cruise, aren't ya sis.)

And besides, she's funny. And she can lift haybales her own d*mn self, thank you very much.

Part I of the "Great Escape" is here. Enjoy!

Calf Update

2009-08-26T07:27:00.000-06:00

I'm sorry to report that the little calf didn't make it.

After attempting to feed the little bugger for hours upon hours, we knew it wasn't going to end well. The vet had already been consulted, the little guy had already not responded well to treatments. Something was just plain wrong.

The next morning Rob and I arrived to find him barely alive, gasping, tongue hanging out. But his tail wagged when I approached and petted him. Feeling like I had to at least try something I went to the house to make a small bottle. When I returned a few moments later, he took his last breath.

It was like he waited all night for us to return so he wouldn't die alone.

It was awful. No mother should witness a babe - of any species - die. It was heart-wrenching. I sat with him a while. Rob waited quietly, patiently. He called my sister, the real farmer. I couldn't talk.

We decided to bury him down in the farm's stone quarry, and we got the tractor and set to work. I didn't bring my camera - that just wouldn't be right - but it was something to see the other cows and calves gather round and watch. There were several times Rob couldn't even move the tractor because the cows wouldn't move out of the way.

There was nothing to be done for that little guy. As Caren said, something was just wrong, and he knew it. It didn't make it any easier to lose him, but at least he wasn't alone.

The cows on our farm aren't just products - they're live beings, treated with love and care. They're used to people, and they're used to wide-open spaces and sunshine and organic grasses. And their well-being isn't taken lightly around here.

These days I understand a little more about why farmers are a crusty lot. It's not always a walk in the park, this farmin' business, and that's coming from me, not even a real farmer, but the occasional poser fill-in. I know my sister and her husband carry a lot of weight on their shoulders, muddling through these early years, learning. Just thought you should know that.

Willow Weekend

2009-08-25T09:55:00.005-06:00

This year's Willow was wonderful as usual, but a bit subdued. I didn't take nearly as many pictures, and I'm sure there are a few folks who were relieved at that. I didn't even get photos of our friends performing, as I was busy taking video for a friend. Taylor, I'm sorry I sang along into the video recording - I was taken by the moment. Am I off-key? How's my vibrato? Can you hear the group over my singing? I'd be happy to handle all the recording for next year, too. Taylor? Taylor? Taylor?

Gemma was back this year, and with her came these two cute little punks.

Doug learning how to carve a bird from the chef.

The spread of food was amazing as always. I swore Sunday evening I wouldn't have to eat for a week. It was Monday evening before I even felt hunger again.

This year we didn't tent camp - we got a bed. Woot! Thanks Duffords! Your B&B service is the best.

Dan gave us the garden tour.

Dan playing the shofar, which David Stocker brought back from his trip to Palestine.

A new game inspired by the young 20-somethings set.

The labyrinth mowed into the yard, a new addition. I never even walked it! Hard to meditate when surrounded by revelry.

Our teens were happy to be together again.

View from the amazing porch.

Ashley, Gemma and I filled tamales....
made by the Willow kitchen goddess, Joanieji.

And as usual, the requisite "we can't believe you didn't come home for Willow, see what you're missing?" photo to send to our faraway friends.

Ah, Willow....

Playin' Farmer Again

2009-07-31T22:37:00.000-06:00

So the other day I was going to pop on here and tell you another funny farm story that involves me showing up at the farm, being the only one there, getting scared out of my wits when a strange man said "Excuse me?" while I was bent over collecting eggs in the barn, and being asked questions about the "new 40 acres going organic" by the stranger, who turned out to be an organic fertilizer dude.

Not wanting to sound like the complete dope I am, I managed to furrow my brow and nod as he talked, and say things like, "Well I should do some checking to be sure, I'll be right back" instead of what I was really thinking: "We're turning 40 more acres over to organic? Well I'll be darned."

Mostly I was just glad to find out that the big-*ss truck he was driving - and no lie, my van looked like a happy meal toy parked next to his spreader - was going to spread organic fertilizer and not organic chicken sh*t.

(Note to self: Never, ever forget camera when heading to the farm.)

But I missed my window for humor when the very next day things once again became dire on the farm. The real farmers have again fled the coop and left us in charge of the farm for a few days. Once again, the instructions started out fairly mundance - collect eggs, make sure water tanks are full, let chickens out, close chickens in, yadda yadda.

But then the more serious points: 3 mama cows are still pregnant - #31, #T14, and "one of the tagless Murray Greys, the bigger one" (picture me trying to find THAT cow in the field) - check on them at least twice a day to see if they're in labor. If they have trouble, you know what to do.

And then... there's a calf that needs to be bottle-fed.

Usually when a calf needs to be bottle-fed it's because the mama won't let him nurse. This one, however, is different - HE won't nurse. Won't have any of it. The mama cow tries and tries to get him to nurse - she licks him, sucks on his ears, nudges him. He won't do it. Because she was such a good mama, my sister didn't even realize at first he wasn't nursing. Eventually they noticed he wasn't gaining weight and realized what was going on.

But here's the thing.... he isn't fond of the bottle, either.

It took him several days to start drinking from the bottle. Then he steadily increased the amount he'd drink, culminating in one or 1-1/2 bottles in the morning and again at night.

Until today. Today I found him lethargic and lying down. It took me quite a while to get him up, and longer to get him to suck on the bottle. After about 45 minutes of trying, I'd finally gotten him to drink 1/4 of a bottle. I'd pry his mouth open with my left hand, shove the bottle in with my right, then massage his jaw or clamp his mouth shut on it, trying to encourage him to suck. Every once in a while he'd humor me and take a few swallows.

But most of the time he'd do this.

Something's wrong with this little guy. Something's very very wrong.

I've gone to the farm five times today, each time spending nearly an hour trying to get him to drink. Sometimes he'd be standing when I got there. More often, though, he'd be lying down, barely moving. Once, I tried to lift his head and it rested heavily in my hands - he wouldn't even hold it up. After hours of trying, he never finished even one bottle.

But after another visit at 10pm, he's still alive. He took a few more sucks and then turned away and refused any more attempts. He even seemed to get a little pissed. Which is fine.

Being pissed is a sure sign of life.

I Tried to Learn Nothing Yesterday

2009-07-25T05:59:00.003-06:00

"Today for Show and Tell, I've brought a tiny marvel of nature: a single snowflake. I think we might all learn a lesson from how this utterly unique and exquisite crystal turns into an ordinary, boring molecule of water, just like every other one, when you bring it in the classroom. And now, while the analogy sinks in, I'll be leaving you drips and going outside."
--Calvin, from Calvin & Hobbes

I nabbed this most insightful quote from a kick-*ss blog written by a kick-*ss unschooler. (Thanks Heart-Rockin' Mama!)

Yesterday was Learn Nothing Day, a holiday created by Sandra and Holly Dodd to poke a little fun at those folks who ask us questions like, "But if you don't go to school, how do you learn?"
We've gotten that comment, mostly from kids. The adults are a bit more discerning in their questioning, asking if we worry about college or how we learn about physics or what our days look like because they could never "stand to be home with their kids" every day. It's ok, it's normal to misunderstand something that's out of your realm of experience, but to unschoolers, who operate on the belief that learning happens all the time - ALL*THE*TIME - it does, truthfully, get a little tiresome after a while.

I'd forgotten to warn my kids ahead of time that Learn Nothing Day was approaching. It's only the 2nd annual and I didn't pay much attention to it last year. This year, however, I told Jonathan about it over breakfast. His reply? "I wish I'd known this sooner, so I could've planned better."

He has a whole pile of new birthday gifts so there's no WAY he won't learn anything today. But then we laughed about how we were learning something while we discussed not learning anything. And then we learned how hard it is to try to learn nothing. Doh!

His school friend summed up our point nicely by chiming in, "I try not to really learn anything during summer break" with a shrug. What he means, of course, is that he doesn't do anything schooly - no reading of textbooks, no writing of reports after reading a good book, no creating a diorama to explain that cool documentary you just watched. And therein lies one of my biggest beefs with the way school operates. Schools would have us believe that learning happens only when you are being taught by someone else. They'd also have us believe that it's "work" and "a kid's job" and "very serious" and other such sobering things. And in school - it is, usually. Even the younger grades get less and less fun as the push for higher test scores and earlier reading takes over.

But kids are learning all the time - ALL*THE*TIME - in AND out of school. They're learning even when they're seemingly "doing nothing" because, honestly, it's impossible to do nothing.

What unschoolers have captured is the beautiful realization that learning isn't separate from living. That in the process of living, learning happens. ALL*THE*TIME. When you're preparing for a birthday party, you're learning. When you're reading, watching tv, playing a video game you're learning. You're even learning as you rest or watch clouds drift by or sun yourself on the beach. It's impossible to not learn.

Humans are hard-wired to learn from their surroundings, but it helps if one is interested, motivated, and inspired. And this is where school does a really sh*t job. And before you give me over to the teachers' unions for a lashing in the public square, listen - I WAS a public school teacher and I KNOW how teachers' hands are tied (to a certain extent). What would be really beautiful is if a whole bunch of school personnel rose up and said, "we're tired of this drudgery!" and started interacting - really interacting, on a level that isn't "I say - you do" - with the kids. Then watch the students' eyes light up and let the revolution begin.

I know, I know. DUDE - WHAT AM I SMOKING?

But seriously, people - we've got to stop operating under the assumption that kids won't learn if they aren't forced, coerced, prodded, and locked into a damn brick building for 7 hours of every day, 180 days a year. It's ludicrous. And we also have to stop believing that the only important things one learns are what's taught within school walls.

When talking with Jonathan's school friend today, we used the example of his juggling. He's an expert juggler for his age and he spends a lot of time researching technique, watching pros on youtube, finding the right equipment, practicing, and even choreographing new and unique rhythms. "Just think how much you learn about juggling all the time!" I pointed out, and we talked about how learning isn't something one only does at school. He does learn at school, and he's an excellent student, but that's one way to learn among many. He seemed happy at that notion, that he learns at school but he learns in other ways at other times and in other places as well, and it's not always stressful or boring or difficult.

And as for the whole "what about college" thing (or what about physics or writing term papers or learning to meet assignment deadlines or "insert stereotypical worry here"), unschooling doesn't mean you just give everything over to the universe and say "what will be, will be!" and then dance off into the sunset with your dreadlocks swaying and leaving a trail of incense behind. You do what anyone would do who wants to get into college (or take a physics class or write a paper or meet a deadline) - you prepare. Unschoolers don't learn little bits of this and that in separated-out morsels in preparation of possibly "someday" needing that information. They follow their interests and tackle their goals and learn what they need to learn as they go. And it works.

And it works on a radically different timeline from school, too. Just because state mandates say that fourth graders learn to long-divide, it doesn't mean there's some innate need to learn to long-divide at age 9. No one needs to long-divide until they need to long-divide. Not sooner, not later. And when one needs to know something, one typically goes about learning it.

Adults have a difficult time wrapping their heads around this. But usually those fears also stem from the worry that their child will be too different from other kids, or they'll appear to be neglectful parents. It's easier to follow the herd. I totally get that. That's why you'll see unschoolers hugging and jumping up and down in glee when they get together - SOMEONE LIKE ME! It ain't easy to paddle against the current, lemme tell ya.

But what it comes down to is this: What do I care about more, my child's freedom and well-being and happiness? or the nosy lady's misinformed opinion at the local mini-mart?

No contest.

Paddling upstream gets easier.

I tried to learn nothing yesterday. I gave it a really good go. I was so tired from hosting 4 parties in 6 days that I sat on my butt almost all day, sorting through digital photos (oops, I learned how to use flickr), blogging (oops, I used an online thesaurus to choose some words), reading magazines (oops, I flagged several recipes and art activity ideas), and eating (oops, I learned that grazing on leftover party food all day makes me a bit queasy *BURP*).

I challenge you to learn nothing for one day. And then, the next time you wonder about us wacky weirdo unschoolers, perhaps you'll pause and think.... "You just might have something there...."

Pullin' a Calf

2009-07-24T14:11:00.007-06:00

Oh hey! You still here? In case you hadn't noticed I've been taking a little blog siesta. I've taken several, each little disappearance growing longer each time, this one being the longest.
("MAY 6th!" my grrrlfriend said pointedly, "You haven't blogged since May 6th!" AlRIGHT already.) I can't explain it other than to say I WANT to WANT to blog, but, well, I haven't WANTED to. I'm fickle like that. And it's not like my 3 readers will care. Most of them get the live version of this side-show.

But I thought I'd wait until I had something really blog-worthy before I made my re-entry. Let's see.... Pictures of my new woods floors? Boring. Camping with a bunch of Jesus freaks? Nah. Capsizing our canoe on a float trip? Whatever. Jamming some air guitar at a family wedding? Blah. Mom's wedding? Eh.

Oh I know.... more farm stories! Also known as the WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND LEAVES THE FARM IN ROB AND LAURA'S HANDS chronicles. Um, Sis? Eventually this is gonna bite you in the *ss. You know that, right?

So the other day I'm minding my own business, working in my yard preparing for the first of five parties we were set to host, when Rob tells me he's heading to the farm to check on a laboring mama cow.

And when he asks if I'd like to join him, I thought for a moment - pull 4-foot tall thistles or witness the birth of new life? - and answered, "hellsa ya."

When we arrived at the farm, we saw Mama Cow lying on her side with the calf's hooves hanging out of her.

This must be a good sign, thought we, the rookie farmer posers, and we grabbed a soda and some popcorn, and prepared to be entertained.

We weren't the only nosy ones. These little calves were curious about us. So while we watched Mama Cow, baby cows watched us.

And these buggers were no help. They insisted on blocking our view of Mama Cow. We'd move further down the fence row; so would they. Cute, yes, but gah - MOVE YER RAWHIDE, wouldja?

They paid a bit too much attention to Mama Cow too, sniffing around her while she labored. Finally, she tired of the attention, leaped up and began head-butting the offending cow.

"I'll give birth AND kick your *ss, b*tch."

Never, ever, mess with a mama in labor.

Eventually, what with all the stress of a nosy audience and, well, FIGHTING while laboring, we noticed Mama Cow wasn't progressing. With each push, the calf's hooves would emerge, but after each contraction was over they'd recede back in. And Mama Cow would again stand up, ask if any other cows wanted a piece of her, and gaze at me as if to say, "Can't you DO something?" before lying down again with the next contraction.

That's when the seriousness of the situation began to sink in. Here we were, sipping soda and munching popcorn like we were at a feature matinee, giddily talking about how great that we were going to witness a live birth right here in the cornfields, when we started realizing we might actually have a wee, tiny problem on our hands.

Sometimes a first-time mama cow has trouble birthing. She gets too tired. Or the calf isn't positioned properly. And sometimes, the calf needs to be pulled. And by pulled I mean CHAINS TIED TO ITS LEGS AND PULLED. Holy freakin' haybales, what do we do now?

The real farmers were on vacation, and even when they're around they need help pulling a calf. Mom and her husband weren't around. And my sister had just blogged about the whole it's bad if you pull too soon and it's bad if you don't pull soon enough thing. I grabbed the bag of popcorn, dumped its contents, and began hyperventilating into it while Rob called my sister.

We got the number of Farmer Scott who lives down the road and is their #1 go-to guy in these kinds of emergencies, and THANK THE HIGHER POWER he answered his cell phone and said he'd be right over. My sister stayed on the phone with us, reminding us that we'd be just fine with Farmer Scott's help, and began giving us instructions.

Rob and Farmer Scott managed to get Mama Cow into the chute in the time it took me to run to the main farm and retrieve the pulling equipment.

I climbed into the barn ~~to help~~ to take pictures.

Farmer Scott adeptly secured the chains around the right spot on the calf's legs (wrong spot and you'll break its legs *shudder*) while Rob ~~and I~~ waited for instructions. Sometimes it takes two people to pull a calf if the Mama Cow isn't helping much. But Farmer Scott decided to give it a whirl on his own.

WARNING: The following Graphic Photos may make you puke up in your mouth a little bit.

Farmer Scott braced his legs against the door frame and pulled, while I balanced precariously over a rusty stall gate. Pulling calves is tricky! I almost fell. And there's 6 inches of slurry manure on that barn floor.

VERY quickly the calf began to emerge. Mama Cow was all over helping by pushing. Farmer Scott was all "C'mon.... C'mon...." and Mama Cow was all "I'm bringin' it! I'm briiiingin' it!" and I was all "Could you move a little to the left so I can get a better shot?"

It was only a matter of seconds before Baby Calf was born. Farmer Scott went from pulling to catching. Ever try to catch a greased-up 80lb calf? That was tricky. I would've helped but, you know, it happened so fast.

Immediately Farmer Scott began sticking straw into the calf's nostrils, causing it to gasp and begin to breathe. Hey, it's better than a slap on the *ss, isn't it?

There were a few nerve-wracking moments as we wondered if Baby Calf was ok. She just layed there.... she was breathing, but not moving much.

Farmer Scott lifted her out into the barnyard so we could release Mama Cow and let her find her babe.

Which she did. She immediately began licking the babe. And licking. And licking. Licky lick lick. Precious.

And no sooner had she gotten a good sniffing in did she begin urging her babe to stand up. "There'll be no lazy calves on MY watch. There is grass to eat, and.... well, grass to eat.... and, well... just get up. I can't stand laziness."

And she did.

She wobbled and flopped and rose and fell, and eventually she began to get the hang of those knobby little legs.

Farmer Scott left, and Rob and I high-fived that we survived our first-ever calf-pulling - and more importantly, Mama Cow and Baby Calf survived!

And I would've settled back in with my popcorn, but I had dried cow blood under my nails.

This farmin' business is rough on a grrrl's manicure.

Mmm French Fries. Or, My Interview on Unschooling

2009-05-06T17:11:00.005-06:00

Humor writer, blogger, and homeschooling mama, Debbie H, contacted me a few months ago asking if she could interview me for her blog, Homeschooling: Freedom and Fun for your Family. Somewhere she heard I like to talk about myself. Not wanting to prove her hunch wrong, I accepted.

The interview was posted on April 17th, and I just now remembered to look for it. I might like to talk about myself, but I also have short-term memory problems. Maybe that's why I talk so much - I can't remember what I've already said.

Another blog post of Debbie's caught my eye on Facebook today, and as I clicked over I suddenly remembered the interview. Doh! There I am, sandwiched among other cool home- and unschooling folks like Barb Lundgren of Rethinking Education Conference fame (oh how I wish-wish-wish I could go). I'm honored to be among such cool folks.

When I first found my interview, I was stumped as to why a photo of french fries provided the header of the post. Ah, short term memory challenges strike again.

To find out what french fries have to do with unschooling, go see for yourself.

Thanks Debbie!

(Mmmmmm.... french fries..... *grabs kids and car keys*)

Look Ma - UNSCHOOLERS!

2009-05-05T20:05:00.005-06:00

I love blogging. I love blogging because I love to write, I love to promote unschooling, and also because I'm an "over-sharer" (a term I heard during an NPR interview today). I like to talk, and I tend to get comfortable with people straight off and next thing you know we're having an intimate and easy conversation whether you're ready for it or not. And that's why I love unschoolers so much.

It's not just that we have a common educational philosophy, though there is that wee bit; it's because there's an openness, an optimism, and deep love of life and children that is present when in the company of unschoolers. It's an energy you can't understand until you've been in its glow. Find yourself some unschoolers and get yourself some of that good stuff; you won't be sorry.

I also love blogging because of the amazing connections and friendships I've made with people all across the country. It's completely amazing to meet other unschooling bloggers at conferences and gatherings after only knowing each other online. It's so much fun knowing people around the country, knowing we have the potential to gather no matter where we travel.

But what tops all that? Finding unschoolers in my neck of the woods.

Thanks to my blog, Jodi of Sunflower Hill Farm recognized me at the InHome Conference and introduced herself. She also invited me to visit their local homeschooling group that gathers in a town not 30 minutes from my house. And yesterday, that group gathered at Inn Serendipity, an eco-B&B owned by my friend Lisa, someone I adore but rarely see.

How fun to meet up with a great group of home- and unschoolers, meet bloggers I'd connected with online, and reconnect with old friends. It was like a coming home.

Lisa led a Renewable Energy scavenger hunt on their homestead, guiding the kids to discover the myriad ways they harness the earth's power and live gently on their plot.

Lisa's husband, John (award-winning photographer, writer, author, national speaker, ecopreneur and globetrotter), stepped in when it was time to explain kilowatts and photovoltaic energy and...
the Savonius Rotor (say what?)

and their 1974 electric car. Seriously!

They also have several kinds of solar panelsAnd even a solar cooker. Here's their wind turbine, and I didn't remember to take a picture of their straw-bale constructed greenhouse where they grow papayas, of all things!

I did manage, however, to take a picture of the tree with a mini-trampoline in it.

As always, the potluck was delicious and inspired. Homemade goodies like sweet breads and applesauce and jams, pesto pasta, macaroni-and-cheese from scratch (it wasn't neon!), bean salads and green salads. There was even a delightful Indian dessert that I must learn about. I can't even remember what it was called. I'll call it oh-my-goddess-please-may-I-have-another. And-another.

Here's Jen of Circle the World - it was so great to meet her! - with Jodi.

And a sampling of the other cool mamas (some had already left) - Paula (a farmer and expecting #6!), Darla (a doula), Lisa, me, and Jodi.

Finding unschoolers in my neck of the woods made my day.

Back in Time

2009-04-30T20:21:00.003-06:00

I don't always feel like blogging. Today is one of those days. So was yesterday. But it occurred to me that it might be interesting to share some old posts, either 'best of' kinds of posts or posts that have special meaning.

Did you know I started blogging when my father died? I don't know what in tarnation spurred me to decide to blog about the mind-numbing pain I felt, but that's what started this whole shebang. I've come a long way, don't you think?

My first ever post - Misty Morning Musings. (What can I say? I'm fond of alliteration.)

Unschooling Story Hour

2009-04-28T21:25:00.003-06:00

Once upon a time there was an audience, a group of people trying to listen to a man and a woman sing songs. The man and woman sang very beautiful songs and the audience members enjoyed their singing very much.

But there was also a group a children playing nearby, children of the audience members. The children weren't so interested in the man's songs. The children weren't so interested in the woman's songs. The children were tired after a long day and just wanted to play and have fun and be a little noisy, as children often want to do.

"Shhhh!" said an audience member, "We can't hear the singing!"

"Hush!" said another, "You need to be quiet!"

"Be quiet!" said another, "And sit still!"

One by one, the audience members, some of them parents of the noisy children, tried to quiet the children. They shushed them. They frowned at them. A few whispered to others nearby, "If those were MY kids, I'd punish them and make them be quiet."

"Those children should behave!" whispered another.

Nothing the audience members did quieted the children, who, rather than growing quiet, grew increasingly loud instead.

But before things got out of hand, before audience members had time to dream up too many punishments, before the man's songs and the woman's songs were drowned out entirely, something magical happened.

The singing man beckoned to the children. "Come forth," he said, "I need help with this song."

The children went forth. They didn't go quietly, and they didn't sit quietly, but they went. They clambered onto the stage and gathered at the singing man's feet and they waited to see what he wanted.

"Let's sing a song," said the singing man. And he began to sing.

And so they sang. They sang loudly, they sang quietly, but all of them sang quite enthusiastically, with arms swinging and feet tapping and mouths open as wide as mouths could open.

And the audience sat back and listened to their beautiful music.

The End

Pat Montgomery, homeschool advocate, founder of Clonlara, and one of my heroes, once said, "All you can really do for your children is model."

Today's unschooling question: Will you be the audience or will you be the singer?

I Have Purpose

2009-04-26T22:23:00.000-06:00

Tonight my nephew, Armando, marched into our house and said to Rob, "Where's Laura? I'm hungry."

At least I know I'm needed for something around here.

Love and Marriage

2009-04-25T22:12:00.000-06:00

17 years ago I decided to marry this bloke: 17 year later....

I'm still glad I did.

Reuniting with my Inner Activist

2009-04-25T09:06:00.000-06:00

Busy today, dusting off the old protest signs. If you need me, all weekend I'll be here.

Story to follow, be sure of that.

You Can Kiss my Grass

2009-04-24T16:07:00.010-06:00

Been feeling a bit sluggish, a bit off since my return from Florida. It didn't help that I returned to 40-degree, rainy weather after enjoying 80-degree sunny days down south. I also returned to find my lovely new wood floors but also a fine layer of sawdust over every square inch of my house - which translated into 14 hours of cleaning the first day back. And I always have trouble transitioning anyway.

And my right ear is plugged up. Just like last year.

But today it was delightfully warm - if a bit windy (and by windy I mean 'blow the furniture off the deck') - so I forced myself to get up and outside for a spell. Turns out I found some energy within and prepped a whole new garden. I've been visualizing a circular herb garden for some time so today, I made one.

Even though we're die-hard organic here, I admit it's a bit daunting to find weeds about to bloom - BLOOM! - in a garden in which I haven't even set foot yet this season. And with the winds we get, and the weed seeds we alone create on these here 5 acres, well - let's just say it's a constant battle to find the food among the sea of weeds.

Perhaps we should start a dandelion farm. Wait, we already have. Perhaps we should market ourselves as proprietors of organic dandelion greens. We could hang a shingle and run a "pick your own" biz. Hmm - something to consider.

Jonathan helps keep things in perspective by reminding me that dandelions are his favorite flower. No one can argue that when an entire swath of yard is in full bloom... it sure is pretty. It's the spindly, grow-an-inch-every-minute seed stalks that are less than appealing.

Good thing we don't live in the burbs.

I had my laptop on the kitchen counter today so it was handy for research as I prepped my herb garden bed. Turns out - and I've discovered this by accident - letting the grass grow long in the spring helps prevent the spread of crab grass and dandelions by shading them out. It looks a bit unruly, but then so does a yard full of weeds. As I researched the steps of permaculture and sought non-chemical solutions to some other dilemmas (don't ever - EVER - plant spearmint in your garden. EVER. Seriously. E-VER) I also found some delightful websites on all manner of sustainable living tips. I have quite the ambitious list of projects jotted on scratch paper, 95% of which will never come to fruition - but a grrrl can dream ambitious.

We used to have a sign in our lawn that read "You Can Kiss Our Grass - This lawn is chemical-free!" I loved that sign.

It got taken out by the wind.

I'm still sluggish, and my ear is still plugged - and achy, now that I think about it - but it felt oh-so-good to toil over clumps of sod again today.

And remember, if you ever come visit - you can kiss my grass.

You Know You Ain't a Southerner When...

2009-04-18T20:03:00.003-06:00

You know you're not a southerner when....

you go to a smoke house and order a BLT.

You know your son ain't a southerner when....

he says he wants a pair of cowboy boots with "spike balls" on the back.

Something's Wrong

2009-04-17T19:59:00.002-06:00

My face feels funny.

Scenes from another Fantastic Florida Trip

2009-04-16T20:31:00.007-06:00

Tomorrow is our last day in Florida. *sniff* Here's a peek at our vacation so far...
Lots of pool time - Jonathan is a fish.

Chatting up my new soon-to-be step-sister.

Not sure if it's the game or the size of the game pieces that's so frustrating.

Easter egg hunt.

Look familiar?

Visiting with cousins.

And reuniting with old friends.

Stone crab for a snack.

And a meet-up with Hulk Hogan. Yo, Hulk.

Jonathan loved seeing the Blues Brothers since he did a spoof of their routine for a play last year. (Wait - is that Broc Higgins?)

Rob is now on staff at Universal Studios.

Reunited with Keti - I miss her already.

Wonderworks with Keti and kids - rainy day substitution for Universal Studios Adventure park.

The kids hit it off famously. So glad!

Beach time. Boys surf. I seek shells.

I'm not going back to the cornfields.
Even my feet are happy here.
Baywatch?
Building sand castles.
All is well. Life is very good indeed.

It Can't Be

2009-04-12T20:14:00.003-06:00

It just can't be. It doesn't seem possible that here we are, in Florida, reunited 23 years after we hung out. 23 years. That's a long d*mn time. That's "don't ever say that again" long, according to Sarah, who comes to our Brady Bunch from "Mike's" side.

This is my cousin Heather, whose life took a radically different turn from mine, considering she's a Capital One bigwig making lots of money and I'm, well, a stay-at-home unschooling mom making no money. Same roots, same cornfields, same experiences, wildly different outcomes. Fun, huh?

And that's Kasumi. Kasumi was the Japanese exchange student who stayed with Heather's family when Heather and I were high school sophomores. Kasumi was - and is - a hoot and a half and my memories are filled with all kinds of crazy stories like the time she told me on a ski trip that she was going to kick my *ss if I wasn't quiet so she could get to sleep. Naturally I egged her on, mostly because it was just so darn funny to hear her say, "I mean it, Lorla - I'm going to keek your ahss" over and over in her heavy Japanese accent. Or the time she insisted that scratching off the tops of my mosquito bites would make them stop itching and I actually let her do it and then walked around for 3 days with little bloody wounds that, now that I think about it, didn't itch anymore but looked like hell. Or the time we all went to a lake in northern Wisconsin on vacation together and Heather and I went to bed to find that Kasumi had decorated our pillows by propping them up on end, dressing them in our bras and panties, and placing tampons and maxi pads in various places.

I have many many more stories about Heather as well - hilarious, obnoxious, blackmail-ish stories that I won't tell lest word get out in the corporate world. Let's just say Heather can be loud. And sometimes barked out car windows. That's all I'm gonna say.

It was great fun to catch up today and catch up on each other's lives.

And now back to my favorite Florida activity: holding down that lawn chair.

Tomorrow, I might get a little crazy and hold down a pool raft.

Posting from Florida

2009-04-11T20:28:00.003-06:00

As much as I'd love to write a new blog post, tell y'all what I'm up to, share some great Florida vacation stories, I just can't.

I'm too busy holding down a lawn chair.

Getting Ready to Blow this Coop

2009-04-09T21:57:00.003-06:00

After a long few weeks of tending the farm (oh my aching joints) (oh I'm so full of manure), we're nearly ready to ease on down, ease on down the rooooad....

Sometimes prepping for a trip is high-anxiety. I rush around doing a million things a minute (slight exaggeration - more like a couple thousand per minute), worrying I'll never get it all done in time.

Then there are times like now - when everything seems to go smooth as silk, and I even have time left over to play board games with my kids, write a blog post, and send off a few thank you notes. I have no explanation for why this time is easier than others, especially since we had to move every lick of furniture out of our living room in preparation for the wood floors being installed while we're gone. And I ran out of progesterone cream which I thought was a certain precursor for a hellish trip prep. Not so. Go figure. (Update: All faces are intact.)

So today, I not only moved furniture....

I even had time to...
Rearrange furniture in my now-empty living room to see if I like something different.

Seriously - I had nothing but time, baby.

I had so much time, I was able to play 7 games of Mille Bornes with Jonathan, clean out the fridge, and visit with some friends. I even took my sweet old time doing my regularly scheduled pre-trip fashion show, where I try on every possible combination of this-top-with-those-pants and that-top-with-this-skirt and those-shoes-with-which-set and so on. I rarely buy new clothes, so you'd think I'd know which combos worked by now. But I forget.

It's actually a good excuse to go through piles of clothes and realize that if I say no over and over to a shirt, it can probably be added to the donation pile. But after the suitcases were packed, the food was laid out, and the maps were gathered, the most important pre-trip activity was completed.

Now, my friends, the vacation can begin.

Tweet!

2009-04-09T20:37:00.001-06:00

Lookie who has a Twitter account. Because I just don't spend enough time, between Facebook and my blog, sharing pointless tidbits with you. Updates in my sidebar over there -->

So, anyone know how to use it? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Will be posting on our road trip to Florida. With this bunch, there are sure to be some newsworthy antics.

Commence Brady Bunch Experiment Part I

2009-04-08T22:12:00.002-06:00

We're heading to Florida tomorrow to join up with my mom and her ~~main squeeze~~ betrothed. Mom rented the same house as last year and we're driving down to spend a week.

My (single, silly - but in a good way!) brother will be there.

So will my mom's fiance's daughter Sarah.

The others are ~~staying far far away from this crazy experiment~~ busy.

Looks like we'll be taking this Brady Bunch thing one future-step-sibling at a time. Sarah - you ready to jump into the new-family petri dish?

Sarah's bringing my kids' favorite snacks and sending football smack talk to Jonathan via Facebook. She's prepared.

Me? I'm listing all the things I should apologize for up front. Cohabitation is a risky business.

Uh Oh.

2009-04-07T22:04:00.001-06:00

So I've got this hormone imbalance, right?

And I can keep it managed with a strict diet, supplement regimen, and progesterone, right?

And when I run out of progesterone for days at a time, the resulting hormonal hurricane makes me want to rip someone's face off, right?

Well, I ran out of progesterone.

And in 48 hours we leave for a 20-hour road trip.

(It's too bad, really... Rob has a really cute face.)

Scenes from Willow

2009-04-07T10:43:00.000-06:00

In cleaning out some out-dated drafts in my blogger dashboard, I ran across this compilation of photos from the last Willow Folk Festival. Apparently, I forgot to post them. Here they are now.

**********
Ok, ok, I'll post some Willow pictures already. We had a lovely time, as usual, with many of our favorite people.

I got to spend more time than usual with Kenz, who taught me to make peace wreaths out of Willow boughs.

Dan, Doug, Maria and Kenz sang beautifully.
While Carissa straightened Brady's hair.

I was initiated into the "nettle" club. (You can eat 'em!)

And this might be when Charlie, who's always draped with lovely grrrls, said to me, "I feel like throwing a cream pie at you" and I replied, "And you think that's a good idea, do you?" while Rob just laughed at Charlie's foolishness in messing with me...

Minstrels in white.

Our feet in matching tulsi anklets.
The kitchen goddess, Joan, worked her magic again.
And introduced homemade kombucha to our palettes.

The herbal blessing bowl at the garden's entrance.
The garden was spectacular as ever.
We actually camped this time.

And Rob got saucy in the kitchen with Sandy.
Who took saucy to a whole new level.
The kids spent hours playing circle games and talking.

And Maria dazzled us with a few solos.
The men held down the fort in the kitchen.
And Sandy got her very own musical blessing from Dan, Martha, and Pat.

Our favorite trio - Dan, Martha, and Pat - accompanied by Taylor on drums.
Sisters Heath sang a lovely duet.
And all the kids joined Dan for a chorus of songs. Love.This.

The teens hung out.
And so did the garden garlic.
And mother-daughter duo, Pat and Kenz, sang together - always so lovely.

Rob even gave kitchen work a go this year. Usually, he dare not tread in the kitchen. There is important, magical work going on in there.

Two of my dishes... herbed goat cheese and eggplant/red pepper spread on crostinis, and beets in a creamy cucumber yogurt sauce. Oh summer.

All in all it was another lovely time.And we can't wait to do it all again next summer.

I Don't Have Time for This

2009-04-06T22:15:00.000-06:00

I'm a busy woman. I've got children to tend, laundry to start, and a mile-long to-do list growing exponentially by the minute. I've got farm chores to do, three wet dogs to contain, and doggie drugs to dispense. I've got packing to do for our trip to Florida (waHOO) and wood flooring to order and furniture to move so the installer can do our floors while we're gone (waHOO). I've got a meeting to prepare for and farmers to pick up in Chicago (waHOO) and buckets of homemade chicken vegetable and wild rice soup to finish so said farmers don't arrive home to a cold house and empty refrigerator.

(You want to make someone's day? Jump to the top of their friend list? Earn yourself some serious karma points? Have a hot meal waiting for them when they arrive home from a trip. They'll be so grateful. They might even cry. And they'll be forever indebted to you - and it's always good to have one-up on someone.)

So I'm busy, right? Which means I definitely don't have time to do a craft project. It's Sunday morning and all I wanted to do was check a few blogs, sip on some coffee, enjoy a few quiet moments before the inevitable rush of activity begins and goes non-stop through Friday. That's not too much to ask, is it? But noooo... I had to go looking at The Magic Onions blog, where she has this posted.

Drat that Magic Onions grrrl... here I am, fixin' to relax for just a few minutes before I start my day, and next thing you know she's got me making paper stars. Paper stars! ME. Crafting.
That must be some powerful magic onions mojo she's got going on, because those who know me best? They know that crafts and me go together like single men and babies. There's sort of this moment of pause where you're all "maybe this wouldn't be so bad....maybe I could do this too...." followed by a shudder and a rush of excuses and a full-out sprint in the other direction.

Magic Onions has this sweet little write-up in her sidebar, part of which goes like this: "I am consciously trying to be mindful of each and every moment; embrace life with love, laughter and learning and give freely knowing that what I have is considerable."

Might I suggest you add "And distract piscesgrrl from her to-do list?"

I even had to run downstairs to get glue so I could make paper stars. While I was down there, I fed the dogs, doled out doggie drugs, fetched soup kettles - full soup kettles - out of my van, and made eggs (what else?) for breakfast.

Then I sneaked back upstairs to finish my paper stars.

I didn't use fancy paper because I didn't trust myself to actually succeed at this endeavor on the first try.

I used plain old printer paper. If they turn out, I might feel brave enough to use some of that pretty scrapbooking paper I have stored away somewhere. The paper that I bought for the scrapbook I never work on. Or perhaps I'll even feel brave enough to dig out my watercolor paints or acrylics and decorate some paper myself. I mean, who cares about a silly old to-do list.

I'm the sort of person who owns all sorts of art and craft supplies. And has no clue what to do with them.

I have the urge to yell, "Mom! Look what I did!" How sad is that?

"MOM! LOOK WHAT I DID!"

Life's so much better when we just give in to our urges, isn't it?

Dear Magic Onions,
When my house comes crumbling down around me in chaos and mayhem, I'm blaming you.

Love,

Piscesgrrl

In Our House

2009-04-05T21:53:00.001-06:00

In our house, a van....

is a perfectly suitable alternative for

overnight refrigeration.

Eggs - They do a Body Good. Er, wait.

2009-04-04T22:39:00.000-06:00

Eggs. My, do we have eggs. We're getting upwards of 4 dozen per day. That's a lot of eggs. YOU try to push 4 dozen eggs on folks every day. It's getting to where people avert their eyes when they see me coming with my cooler strapped to my back. But I have my strategy... "Your first ~~fix~~ dozen is free." Next thing, they'll be jones'n for more. You wait.

Every day we venture to the farm, don our sh*t-kickers, and head into the ~~trenches~~ barn. The hens brrrrrAWK-awk-awk-awk-awk at us as we enter, some scurrying away, other ambling toward us in curiosity. Or in high hopes for stinky compost bucket goodies.

Something else scurried the other night, too. My dog went NUTS and about tore through a wall trying to get whatever it was. The boys followed her nose and, peering with flashlight under a ledge, said, "Hey, there's a little hole there!" I told them to shush and get back to work as uncontrollable shudders ran up and down my spine. I'll collect eggs. I'll water horses. I'll toss in hay for cows. Hell I'll even drag a dead cow to the side of the road if I have to. I draw the line at rats.
My evening routine now includes washing eggs to sell. I line up the full cartons and grab some damp cloths and wipe down each egg, making sure to discard the ones with cracks. I don't mind the chore, and I get a kick out of the different colors and sizes of eggs.

In other news, Laura really needs a life.

I took pictures of the eggs the other night so I could share with you the array of sizes and colors.

Did it just get really, uncomfortably quiet in here or is it just me? You still there? Hello?... hello... hello...

For perspective, I placed each egg next to my thumb ring. Yes, I said thumb ring. Remember - I'm not a farmer, I'm a poser.
There are smallish brown eggs. And larger brown eggs. Brown eggs come from the breed that lays brown eggs.

There are also white eggs. From the breed that lays white eggs.

And the prettiest light-green eggs. From the breed that ate too much grass. *burp*

Do chickens eat grass? Do they burp? I must know.

There are also these "Oooh Ahhh" eggs. These big eggs are called "Oooh Ahhh" eggs, according to my sweet, prim grandmother, because when the hen is pushing the egg out she says "Oooooooh" and once the egg is out she says, "Ahhhhhhh." My grandma, she's a stinker. And that isn't the half of it.

There are even these pretty speckled eggs.

And here they are all lined up so you can really see the range in size, seeing as my thumb ring perspective didn't give any - how do you say it? - perspective.

Eggs. They do a Body Good. I know that's not their slogan, but I'm breaking the mold.

I'm a farmer with a thumb ring.

Close Call, where Close Call means Oh Sh*t

2009-04-03T22:52:00.001-06:00

Y'all remember I'm in charge of the farm for a few weeks, right? Where in charge means does driving by the farm reeeally slowly equal doing chores?

And y'all remember there's a mama cow on the farm that's about to die, where die means dragging a carcass by tractor and cash in coffee cans and a really bizarro twist on the whole roadkill thing, right? Oh and piscesgrrl doesn't know how to drive a tractor.

Well, if that isn't enough to worry about, my mom's dog Boomer is also staying with us, where staying with us means dragging his wet mangy dog-*ss all over my carpet. Boomer has no use of his right front leg and therefore hobbles around while occasionally moaning, where moaning equals Laura speed-texting her mom as to the overdose level of aspirin in dogs.

Two lame animals to care for is plenty. So imagine my horror when Rob and I ~~did chores~~ drove reeeally slowly past the farm the other day and saw one of the goats lying in a very unnatural position, slumped over a bale of hay. "OH MY G*D the goat is dead!" I shrieked, where shrieked means Rob swerves off the road.

"What?" he asked, calm as a cucumber, where calm as a cucumber isn't really a phrase, as I continued hyper-ventilating about goats and death and ohmyg*dnotonmywatch.

He turned around at the next driveway, where next driveway equals sometime today would be nice, and we high-tailed it, where high-tailed means took his sweet d*mn time, back to the farm.

As we passed the goat/horse/chicken pasture, there was the goat, laying only slightly-unnaturally now, still slumped over the bale of hay but looking right at me, where looking right at me means you stooopid, stooopid goat!

Let's just say Sunday can't come soon enough, where Sunday means the farmers return and Laura returns to her regularly scheduled life of leisure.

California's Got Nuthin' on My Cornfield. Well, Maybe a Little

2009-04-02T22:51:00.002-06:00

We have some good friends who moved away to California and we've been beseeching them to come back ever since.

In other news, look who has her Thesaurus handy.

"Gray skies!" we exclaim.... "Sub-zero temperatures!"... "Cornfields, as far as the eye can see!" we advertise. They don't respond except to send text photos of their lunchtime sushi plates and flowering backyards and tan faces. Which is sooo, like, whatEVER.

They might have lemon trees in their backyard, avocados year-round, and easy access to wine country and sandy beaches and rocky mountains but we've got one thing they haven't got.

And we use it as leverage every chance we get.

I attended a local staging of The Vagina Monologues recently. Two grrrls from my women's circle were in it, as well as a few other women I know. It was a raucous (and, at times, sobering) good time and we even dragged a few of our menfolk along. (I'm not sure they knew what they were getting into.)

The audience was full of people I know. I didn't expect that. It shouldn't surprise me, though... naturally, I run around with women who'd attend The Vagina Monologues! And being a smallish town, we're a somewhat small contingency. After the show I nabbed some old friends I hadn't seen in a while - mutual friends of those California turncoats - and said, "Let's take 'Nah Nah!' pictures to send to them!"

That's a hobby of mine: taking pictures to send to faraway friends with a big "Nah Nah" attached.

Mature, yes.

So you can have your bright, blue skies 300 days of the year and your stately sequoia trees and your adorable quaint weekend get-away beach houses..... because we've got her:

Take that, California dreamers! We also have her:
That's right. You know it. And if that ain't enough to get you booking the next red-eye into O'Hare, we also have her Momma:

And those folks... well, they make the gray skies, mind-numbingly cold winters, and panoramic cornfields more than tolerable.

If You Need Me, I'll Be in front of the Tube

2009-04-02T17:56:00.004-06:00

Bowl of popcorn?
Check. Soda?

Yep. Snuggly blanket?

Got it. Box of tissues?

Nearby. 2-hour final-ever episode of ER?

*sniff*

Can't Get One Past Jonathan

2009-04-01T22:08:00.000-06:00

Brady gave up cleaning his room for Lent.But that's not what this post is about.

Brady is also giving guitar lessons to beginners. He started this week with 3 students from our homeschool group. After I suggested several times that he plan what he would do with the kids the next day, Brady had a great idea. He asked Jonathan if he could practice on him. Jonathan, being a good little brother, obliged.He wasn't exactly thrilled about it, though. "Ahhh, it makes my hand hurt funny," he groaned."Urgh, it even makes my hand LOOK funny!" he shivered.

Here he practices his form for his audition for the sequel to August Rush. (You saw August Rush, didn't you? If not, stop reading right this second. Go to your netflix queue and add it, We'll wait.)

But Jonathan's a smart one, he is. After the end of the lesson, he said, "That'll be ten dollars please."

"What?!" Brady asked.

"For helping you learn how to teach a guitar lesson."

It's That Time of Year Again

2009-03-31T22:45:00.000-06:00

It's almost time for our 2nd annual trip to Florida, where we'll join up with my mom WHO IS LIVING IN SIN WITH HER FIANCE. (Not that I mind or anything.)So you know what that means... IT MEANS MY MOM IS NAUGHTY. Er, wait. What it means is it's also time for....Jonathan's annual hair cut.

It's been a while since we've gotten a good look at that face.
The shock will wear off in a few days. It always does.

Looks can be Deceiving

2009-03-30T21:30:00.003-06:00

You might think, at first glance, "This is not the face of world domination." Total silliness, perhaps, but not world domination. Not Ruthlessness. Chaos. Tyranny. Or destruction.

But...You'd be wrong.

In Our House

2009-03-29T22:56:00.000-06:00

In our house....

Jonathan sleeps everywhere....

and I mean EVERYWHERE....

in front of the fireplace....

on any floor....

in any room.....

even on chairs....

But never... EVER....

in his own bed.

Farm Chores

2009-03-28T22:25:00.001-06:00

While my mom is in Florida LIVING IN SIN WITH HER FIANCE - (Ahem) - and my sister and family are in Panama visiting relatives, I've been left in charge of two homesteads, two dogs, and a FARM.

Now let me ask you a question....

Do I look like someone who should be left in charge of two homesteads, two dogs, and a FARM?

I didn't think so.

Nevertheless, my entire family saw fit to jet off and leave us here, in charge. My sister left us a loooong list of farm instructions and gave me a tour of the place to be sure I knew which end was up.

I had to learn how to turn off the dryer on the grain bin if it rained really hard. (Please don't tell my sister it rained really hard and I forgot to turn off the dryer on the grain bin.)

I learned that if you leave the hose in the water tank, it'll siphon it all off overnight. (We tested this theory. It's true.)

I was instructed to feed the cats in the garage. (Um, there are no cats in the garage.)

The chore list goes on and on, but really, there ain't nothing to do. There are eggs to collect, hens to let out and shut in, and water tanks to fill. Bales of hay need to be placed every few days and the mineral feeder needs filling on occasion. Crack the ice if the water gets frozen. Don't let the goats get into the chicken coop or they'll eat all the feed. Sell the surplus eggs.

Pshaw, this farmin' stuff's easy, man.

But then I read the instructions a little closer....

"SICK COW:
*The mother cow with the swollen jawbone is getting skinny. She may die."

I'm sorry... did you say die? Did that just say "She may die?" Die as in dead-carcass-in-the-pasture die?

Oh.

And there's where it gets interesting. In order for the rendering service to handle the carcass, we need to....

"drag her to the side of the road with the tractor and a chain and have the rendering company come and get her."

Oh.

That's going to be fun. And it gets better. The rendering company... well, they're interesting folks. You can imagine you'd have to be a little off yer rocker to want to operate such a business, so they have some strange requirements. You see, they don't want to deal with us any more than we want to deal with them. Hence, the following instructions:

"You'll need to leave the money (cash only) in a coffee can or jar for the driver."

You read that right. We're supposed to put cash in an empty coffee can and leave it next to the carcass. On the side of the road.

Wow.

And now that I've just spilled the beans on a little farm secret, don't y'all go scouring the countryside for ditch-side dead animals just so you can steal a little cash, y'hear?

As for me, I've gotta run. Gotta get my sh*t-kickers on and do some farm chores. And go whisper sweet nothing's in mama cow's ear... Sweet nothing's along the lines of "Please don't die Mama Cow. Please... PLEASE don't die Mama Cow."

Alright, I'm Listening

2009-03-25T21:30:00.004-06:00

The universe wants me to pay attention, apparently.

It's that time of year again... the anniversary of my father's death, several annual memorial events. I try my best to squelch the uncomfortable waves of grief that begin deep down in my core, to calm my latent dread; I wait for that day when it all lifts and I can look at a picture of my dad without the bottom of my stomach dropping out. Without holding my breath.

But reminders are all around at this time of year, even unexpected ones.

Yesterday, I helped Brady with a college class project. He had to produce a live video segment for his Video Production class and my friend Kristin and I were his guests. I interviewed Kristin on - what else? - unschooling, while Brady sat in the control room hoping his crew would cue the lights, cameras, and me at the right times. While we waited for our turn, we struck up a conversation with a young woman who was also waiting to do an interview. She mentioned she's from my town, so I asked her name. I didn't recognize it, but told her my name, including my maiden name, asking her if she knows any Flynns. She paused... "Well, I got the John Flynn scholarship last year, are you that Flynn?"

Wow. Tears welled. I sure am. I wasn't able to attend the scholarship presentation last year, and thus, hadn't met the 2nd year recipient. What amazing serendipity.

When I asked where she was going to school, she told her own tale of woe. She'd taken a year off after two of her closest friends were killed - in separate unrelated accidents - in the same week.

Today, another reminder to pay attention. Scrolling through my Facebook homepage, I spy a photo album posted by someone I don't know titled "John Flynn Memorial Tournament." This past weekend was the basketball tournament named in memory of my father. I took a peek, recognizing a few people, my brother included, when a picture of the trophies and plaque unexpectedly appeared - and on the plaque is a photo of my dad. My heart pounded.

I still have a DVD in my desk drawer - right here, not 6 inches away - of my father giving a presentation to the local Historical Society. A kind neighbor gave it to me shortly after his death, thinking I'd like a copy. It was a sweet gesture, but I can't watch that DVD. Seeing still photos of him is difficult enough. Seeing video of him talking? Breathing? Alive? Can't do it.

I know enough about universal messages to understand that I'm not supposed to be stuffing it all away, pretending it didn't happen, that today is just another day and March is just another month. I can run, but I can't hide.

I'm listening now.

Hob-Nobbing with the Competition

2009-03-22T19:32:00.003-06:00

I have a habit of being rather blunt sometimes.

Not always - I'm actually diplomatic to a fault, and, being quite intuitive, I'm rather adept at knowing what I can say and when. That said, it's also a happened a time or two that while Rob and I drove home from an event, he was saying, "I can't believe you said such-and-such to so-and-so." Rest assured that should I misstep, I will get a talking-to for it on the way home. Ah, he's so sensitive.

Last night was one of those blunt nights. We attended an awards ceremony hosted by one of the companies for which Rob sells. We've attended these before and while they're a nice perk - dinner, drinks, and a night's stay are on the company - they're also a wee bit awkward in that we don't usually know anyone there and, technically, they're all competitors anyhow.

It was with great relief that I ran into Julie, who worked for my father and was his right-hand woman for many years. Someone to talk to! We ended the night with the folks from her new agency, most of whom were taking full-on advantage of the "free drinks" portion of the perk.

Since Rob doesn't drink any more, and I only indulge in the occasional cocktail, we were in a rather precarious position. Hob-nobbing, sober, with competition who were - shall we say - feeling no pain was quite interesting indeed.

Not once, not twice, but three times I found myself saying, "You might want to rephrase that. Consider what you just said and try that again."

When one extremely tipsy man opened with, "I have to tell you my goat story," I remarked that he might want to rephrase that. "I have to tell you my goat story" is probably not your best choice to strike up a conversation with me. Laughter.

When another man, having just left his wife in their hotel room, said, "I just got rid of my wife," I remarked that he might want to rephrase that. I went on, "Tomorrow's headline: 'Wife of award-winning insurance agent goes missing.'" Laughter.

When a third very-drunk agent said to me, "I'm still waiting for that busload of teenagers to arrive. I guess they're not coming," I suggested he might want to rephrase that. And that perhaps he'd enjoy talking with the guy with the goat story. Laughter.

Normally, these are the kinds of things that might cause Rob to shoot me those "be careful" looks, or ask why I had to 'go there' on the way home. But he didn't. He just laughed.

Sometimes, even he likes my style.

Feel a little of the old Smack-Talk Comin' On

2009-03-20T22:54:00.001-06:00

BADGERS WIN! Eat it, Florida State!

Sorry. Just a little excited.

Alright, He Can Stay

2009-03-19T19:56:00.004-06:00

My mom's fiance, Gordon, came over today. He hung curtain rods in my bedroom. Then he fixed the light/fan combo in my bathroom.

I guess we'll let him stick around.

Birthday Gift Part OhMyGoshWooHOO

2009-03-17T20:44:00.006-06:00

OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH OHMYGOSH.... Look what I got for my birthday!

I have this knack for guessing my birthday presents. It's not because I ask for anything in particular - I don't. In fact, when people ask what I want for my birthday, my brain flies out the back of my head and I can't think of a single thing. It's actually something I inherited - my grandfather always guesses his gifts. You could wrap a tie in a shoebox and he'd say, "Oh, you got me a tie!" before even touching the bow.

My darling husband has gotten verrrry good at paying attention to what I like these past few years and has gotten me some sa-weet gifts. I couldn't be happier. Let's just say we've come a long way from the Christmas I got him a cappucino machine and he got me an Adam Sandler movie.

It started two years ago when on Christmas morning he made me close my eyes and then wheeled in my new road bike. THAT was awesome. I adore that bike.

Last year he got me my kick-*ss digital camera. My camera rocks.

Today, when the box containing my birthday gift arrived, I just had a hunch... I hadn't had any hunches before that, but even though the box was somewhat large and unmarked, I scrunched my forehead in that knowing way and said, "I know what you got me."

That prompted Rob to begin lying; at which, thankfully, he's quite poor. He said, "I'm not really sure you're going to like it" in an attempt to throw me off, which then led to a series of guesses on my part. If he wasn't sure I'd like it, I mused, it must be something HE wants.

"A Pink Floyd CD?" I ventured... Pink Floyd makes me want to carve out the insides of my eyelids with a butter knife.

"The first five seasons of Spongebob Squarepants?" I tried again... I'd like to squeeze Spongebob Squarepants until his beady little eyes explode.

"How about 'The Best of Screamo'?" I laughed... I don't mind Screamo when my son's band is playing it, but that's all on account of a mother's love for her son, not a true appreciation for the style of music. (Sorry Brady.)

Long story short - I guessed right. But that doesn't mean I wasn't totally, completely surprised. I even danced a little jig in the kitchen, to which Brady said, surprised, "Wow - she's never done THAT before."

This sweet new lens allows me to zoom in further than ever. It means instead of zooming this close...

I can zoom THIS close.

Those pictures were taken from the same spot, using different lenses.

Instead of only zooming in this close....

I can zoom in THIS close....

I can also stand in the safety of the garage and shoot pictures of my lovely niece who was way out in the yard.

Or stand far out of the way of the kids shooting hoops and still capture this shot of my adorable nephew Armando who was giving me his pie-faced grin from afar.
Jonathan nabbed the following cool shot of a branch outside our front window. He was standing in the middle of our living room.

So far I am madly in love with this new telephoto lens. So far there's only one minor problem with being able to capture photos from far away... especially when unbeknownst to the subject....

EGADS!

I should've added under-eye cream to my birthday list.

Birthday Gift Part I

2009-03-17T12:47:00.007-06:00

It's funny how our idea of what makes a great birthday present evolves over the years. As soon as we were old enough to begin wanting things, we sat with the JC Penney catalog or the double-phone-book-sized Sears catalog, pen in hand, and circled things - even things we hadn't wanted before gazing upon them in the colored pages of those books. Somehow everything looked more desirable with the prospect of actually getting them looming ahead.

As we grew older, birthdays meant fun times. Themed parties. Group trips to places like Chuck E Cheese or Great America or Shakey's. Slumber Parties. Slumber parties where somehow - and who knows how - it got leaked that there were a pile of pajama'd grrls gathered in a tent in a cornfield and boys showed up.

Later birthday celebrations meant pizza joints, dances in the round barn, movie nights where no movies were actually watched. (Sorry Mom.)

And later yet, bars and pubs. And house parties.

And if you're lucky enough to have a birthday on St. Patrick's Day, like me, there is no shortage of partiers and revelers to join you in your celebration. I have dozens and dozens of pictures taken over the years of me with who-knows-who, people who were more than willing to down a green beer, tip their cap, and jump into the fray of my birthday celebration. It all seemed like a good idea at the time.

These days, life is simpler. Quieter. And quite a bit more sober. And I'm happy as a pig in mud.

My first birthday gift of the day - well, besides Rob's sweet 'Happy Birthday' nuzzle first thing - was Brady picking up the house. And my second was Jonathan's invitation to do yoga.

As kids we don't necessarily get the whole "I don't need a present" thing. We roll our eyes when our parents say things like, "All I want is to spend time with you."

But then we grow up. And it's true. Just like all those other things our parents warned us about such as "you don't just marry the boy, you marry the family" (from Dad) and "sometimes you have to do things you don't want to do" (from Mom).

I couldn't think of a better way to spend my birthday morning than doing yoga with my two favorite kids in the whole wide world.

When I suggested taking a photo, Jonathan eagerly obliged and showed off his backbend.

Incidentally, when we did three backbends in a row using Rodney Yee's video, we could barely do them. We were laughing too hard as Brady moaned, "Oh my Gah! I'm dying! I can't do this! Oh my Gah!" over and over.
Here we were still laughing as I tried to get into a half-moon pose without tipping over in time for the camera to flash...

Success!

And now we're off for Birthday Gift Part II.

A few moments ago I had a sudden craving and yelled, "Let's go get french fries!"

Disconnected Internet, Disconnected Thoughts

2009-03-16T21:34:00.000-06:00

Ever since Brady tried to swap the operating system in my computer for the operating system in his computer, the wireless network adapter isn't working properly.

By the way, anyone speak Greek? Because that's what the above sentence is to me.

If I have to translate it to layman's terms it would sound something like this:

"Brady! WAH! My computer won't stay connected to the internet! Fix it! What do you mean you can't fix it? I'm going to burst a blood vessel now. Please call the paramedics. Amen."

It also means I'm having trouble uploading pictures to my blog and ya'll know, if there are no pictures, I have nothing to say.

You did know that, didn't you?

That's Jonathan's explanation for why I didn't blog much last month. My photos all suddenly disappeared from Picasa and I was forlorn, lost, and twitchy. It made my muse crawl into the fetal position, suck her thumb, stick her blankie up her nostril and refuse to come out until the photos were found.

Which they were. It had something to do with the whole operating system swap-o-rama-gone-bad. Brady.

And so, with no photos to keep me focused, I can only post random, disconnected thoughts on my blog today....

Rob had a fever last night. It's weird when adults get fevers. Rather than seem especially sick, he got loopy and silly.

We ventured out to Monroe, WI today to meet up with a new-to-us homeschooling group, thanks to an invitation from Jodi of Sunflower Hill Farm who introduced herself to me at the InHome Conference and who was, incidentally, just featured in the Wisconsin State Journal. Thanks Jodi - We had fun!

Usually I have to boot Jonathan out of my bed so I can go to sleep. The last two nights I had to boot Brady out. He hasn't done that in approximately 7.6 years.

There is a pair of naaaasty looking socks on my staircase. I refuse to touch them. Which means they'll be there for a long, long time.

It's 10pm and I should be in bed before I turn into a pumpkin.

But instead of sleeping, I'll end up watching Iron Chef America on the Food Network. Which gets my heart-rate up. Seriously. I get sooo nervous. I'm a dork like that.

Today I was asked to serve on the planning committees for TWO conferences. I'm going to feel badly about letting one of them down. Eenie Meenie Miny Mo.

Jonathan is upset with me tonight because I wouldn't do yoga with him. It's part of his new, "I want to get stronger and more fit" plan, which he announced tonight. This from a kid who has worked out every day since January 1st.

I only said no because I'd just gotten home from a 2-hour stint at the gym, was already showered, and had a full stomach. I promised we'd do it tomorrow morning. OM-baby-OM.

I decided today that I jive with country folks better than city folks. City folks are cool, hip, urban, and intellectual. Country folks talk about things like growing horseradish and suckling pigs and have kids who run around barefoot with dirty toes. I'm intimidated by city folks. Country folks are kin. City folks make me realize just how unhip I am. Country folks make me relax and feel like expanding my garden by 2.5 acres.

I sometimes make sweeping generalizations I later regret.

Tomorrow is my birthday.

To cool Rob's feverish head, I placed a cold, wet washcloth on his forehead. Which immediately prompted his famous Ferris Bueller impersonation. The part where he's faking-sick for his mom.

My mom is making Boston Cream Pie for my birthday.

I like inchworms. Even though they send a shiver up my spine.

You Should Hire Me

2009-03-14T22:15:00.001-06:00

I can't believe I just said that.

I have the most difficult time putting myself out there. I know that's hard to believe, what with my posting unflattering pictures of myself on my blog, having a facebook page, and telling you more than you ever wanted to know about life in these here cornfields, but it's true.

I am an idea grrrl. But I'm not a follow-through-on-my-ideas kind of grrrl. I have a vision. In fact, I have several visions. I have new visions all the time. But I don't necessarily do anything about it.

At a recent workshop on raising entrepreneurial children, the presenter said, "Entrepreneurs go past the idea stage. They not only have a vision, they act on their visions."

Well, shucks.

I've come up with all sorts of ideas, grand schemes, life plans. Some are huge and somewhat unrealistic - living in a cooperative community, opening a creative playspace museum for children - but others are smallish and entirely conceivable should I just get to work - hosting round-table discussions in my home, hosting 'Fridays in the Field' field trips for homeschoolers, speaking on unschooling.

(I even name my fictional adventures. Those round-table discussions in my home? "Cornfield Conversations" How fun is that?)

I just have trouble believing in my own 'credentials.' In true codependent form, I am my own worst critic. But where most successful people simply adapt their strategy when they fail, rather than quit or get derailed, I talk myself out of things before I ever get started.

It's not always true. There are plenty of things I do and accomplish. What I get hung up on, though, are those things that involve really putting myself out there, really marketing myself. I can do the occasional class for homeschoolers, tutor the occasional student, direct the occasional play, arrange the occasional PR for an event; but tossing my name into the hat for new things - big new things - intimidates me.

*****
I like entering through the back door. I like it when my debut occurs organically, by happenstance, or accidentally. Once I'm in, once I've accomplished something, once I've established I can do a thing, then I'm comfortable. In the end I even find myself more brazen then ever, buoyed by my own dumb luck. Next thing you know, I go from saying I'll serve cookies at an event to running the operation the following year. I love that.

And that's how it happened that I'm speaking at next year's

Unschoolers Winter Waterpark Gathering in Ohio.

Before attending this year's event, I waited until the last minute to submit a proposal for a roundtable discussion. Naturally, the slots were filled. But it so happened that I know Debra through our blogs, and when she heard I was coming she invited me to join her panel and share my story for their "Redesigning Education" workshop. It went very well and I enjoyed it very much.

Later that evening, the UWWG organizer, Carol Reinhard said she heard good things about our talk and yesterday, I got my official invitation to speak at next year's event!

And it all happened without my having to put myself out there; without having to say, "Hire me: I'm a speaker."

*****
I'm still irritated with myself, though. I'd like to get over my insecurities, get past my fears, and take more initiative to do some of the big things I long to do. Perhaps that means I need to pick the brains of those who do these things. Perhaps that means I need to brush up on marketing skills. Perhaps that means I need to commit myself to my vision on a regular basis. Perhaps that means doing for myself what I urge others to do - treat myself gently and believe in my own gifts. And if definitely means I need to quit prioritizing sweeping the floor over writing another article to submit to homeschooling magazines.

I sold another small article this week. Occasionally I submit freelance articles to a middle-man organization called Constant Content. It's a site that sells your content to buyers seeking articles for their publications, newsletters, and blogs. Constant Content gets a cut, of course, and you don't get a byline (essentially, you're a ghostwriter) but it's been a good way to get my feet wet; see if I'm publishable. Today I received notice that I sold usage rights to an article I wrote some time ago; one that I thought was destined to languish on the site forever. A fun surprise!

These small accomplishments revive my enthusiasm for big dreams and visions. Maybe I really am a writer. Maybe I really can be a speaker.

Today, I grabbed my notebook and gathered all the workshop ideas I've been jotting down for many months. They were scattered and disconnected ideas, penned while I was driving and had an "aha" moment, or inspired by the words of another speaker, or revealed as I answered the questions of a new and worried unschooler. I compiled the ideas into workshops. I even wrote the descriptions.

Too many times I'd think,"I want to speak too" only to have that thought followed by, "But on what topic?" Unschooling is an obvious choice, sure, but even that needed to be fleshed out a bit.

Now I am one giant step closer to putting myself out there. Have topics - will speak.

Sharing this with you on my blog is giant step #2.

I'll work on the other obstacles another day.

A Different Perspective - in Photos

2009-03-13T22:22:00.000-06:00

I realize in trying to relay my conflicted feelings about the other day - the 3rd anniversary of my father's death and the day my soon-to-be step-brother welcomed his first child into the world - I rambled on and possibly didn't make a whole lot of sense. Adding to my sense of confusion was life swirling around me in strange ways: the dog needing to go in and out, in and out, in and freaking out already; Jonathan calling from his friend's house and asking me to bring a Q-tip when I picked him up because his ear felt funny; my brother texting about an old acquaintance who died (much too young as well) but about whom no one seems to have the details. There's definitely a sense of unrest in the air.

So I'm going to let my nephew Armando explain it. In pictures.

When one first considers the symbolism of a new baby being born - the granddaughter of my mom's new fiance - on the 3rd anniversary of my father's death, one might at first think,

"I don't want to talk about it."

Or, one might even think,
"This is a stupid day and you can't make me think about it."

Upon further reflection, however, the significance of the events may begin to sink in, causing one to think,
"WHOA."
"That IS pretty crazy."

"Some things stop, other things begin."

"And in the end, all there is is love."

Thanks Armando.

Something to Ponder

2009-03-12T12:18:00.003-06:00

Sometimes, the whole "circle of life" thing has many layers.

Yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my father's death.

But as often happens with the whole circle of life thing, yesterday, my mom's fiance's son Ryan and his wife Marina had their first child - a girl.

Here's me with Marina, my soon-to-be step-sister-in-law. Or something like that. Marina lives in Denver, where she is right now nestling in with her new wee one. Nothing like a new baby in springtime, is there?

Now I know it's a stretch to connect the new baby with the passing of my father. But I can't help pondering the cosmic symbolism here. I'm all for marking an otherwise deeply sad day with something hopeful and promising like a newborn life. This event hits home not only the obvious circle of life with death and birth but also, for our evolving family, the circle of life as it applies to the old-life death and new-life birth; namely, my mom's upcoming marriage to Gordy and the mingling of two very large local families as a result.

Yesterday I spent most of my time ignoring the fact that it was the 3rd anniversary of my father's death. If you ask my kids they'll tell you I'm not much for big lead-ups to big happy celebrations, much less sad ones. In a departure from what many practice, I almost find it irreverent, in some ways, to make a big hoohah about my dad's passing. I remember and grieve and shake my fists at the sky every single day. I don't reserve my honors and tributes and "why in the hell did you have to go and die, Dad?" for the anniversary. I'd rather that day pass by somewhat unrecognized, not wanting to give any more finality and credence to what's occurred than is necessary.

And so it was rather conflicting yesterday to chat about my new paint colors with my mom, whose blood-shot eyes gave her away, and Gordy, who was eagerly awaiting the update from Denver, while we avoided the topic of my father's passing. It was conflicting to temper my grief about just how much I hate the date 3/11 which will forever be marked with horror and trauma, with just how genuinely happy - and even relieved - I was to hear that a new baby was born into the family. Even if calling them 'family' has taken a while to digest and process.

I like them well enough. In fact I like them all very, very much. It's just all... surreal. You know?

And so my range of emotions tottered back and forth throughout the day and night. Jonathan couldn't sleep a wink all night long. I didn't suggest there may be that cosmic connection to explain his unrest. Brady's agitation came earlier in the month, when he had sudden memories of his final hours with my dad just days before he died. Rob just nodded quietly when I brought up the significance of yesterday's date and said, "I know. I've been thinking about him all day."

I'm happy to have something else - something amazing - mark March 11th from now on. Now when my stomach turns at the thought of that date, it will be followed by a softening... and a celebration.

Our congratulations to the entire Dirksen clan! Now please come visit so I can hold that baby.

In Our House

2009-03-10T21:43:00.001-06:00

In our house, we don't bring the movie to the couch.

We bring the couch to the movie.

Photo Phrenzy

2009-03-09T21:48:00.007-06:00

Whenever we travel, there is always the requisite loopy photo session. This usually occurs mid-trip, when emotions are high, people are getting tired, and we decide to catch the descension from excited-high to exhausted-low. At the InHome Conference, the loopy photo session took place late Friday night. Brady had my camera and Jillian, below, had hers. They snapped so many photos I felt like I was being stalked by the paparazzi.

Here is the lovely Jillian.

We rarely see Jillian anymore so it was fun to hang out with her.
There are about six dozen more photos of Jillian just like these.

Other friends were there too, but their parents aren't cool with their photos going on my blog.
Here's Brady....

Who played along for a while...
And then grew a little crazed....
Jonathan and his friend Colin checked in from the Family Dance from time to time.
And therefore got their picture taken. 62 times.

And even the adults were targeted. Rob's always game for silliness. But in case he wants to kill me for that photo, here's a better one:

Not that he'd kill me. I mean, who'd wash his socks, butter his toast, and greet him at the door after work with his slippers and dinner ready?

No really, who? Because he'd probably really like that.

Another notable detail - these pictures must be close-up shots of faces. No posing, no background filler. Just raw, in-your-face photography.

Which is why mine have all been edited to black-and-white. :-)

Waiting for Cirque

2009-03-07T22:39:00.000-06:00

We saw a Cirque du Soleil show last weekend, Saltimbanco. It was amazing. Here we are waiting for the show to begin. A glimpse of our life.

One word: captivating

Fake It 'Til You Make It

2009-03-07T08:15:00.004-06:00

When I offered to do publicity for our state-wide homeschooling conference, no one knew my marketing and PR experience entailed nothing more than participation in a few grass-roots, fake-it-'til-you-make-it projects.

Homeschoolers are a resourceful lot, though. Resourceful and, often, somewhat broke. We tend to live by a motto of "if you want it, make it happen" - which means things like forming an art group in your living room because the nearest studio is 45 minutes away; enticing speakers to come to your cornfield by offering free lodging and food; and going through 4, 5, sometimes 6 pilates teachers who only last 6 weeks each because they think travelling to our cornfields is, like, heading for a land of no return and good grief how can you stand it? There's no Starbucks down the block?

Or maybe my opinion is slightly skewed by my location.

Regardless, as I sat in on a session titled "Raising Entrepreneurial Children" at the
InHome Conference, listening to the presenter talk about creating arbitrary limitations in order to 'teach' our children to be creative and resourceful (more on that another time), I couldn't help but think how we unschoolers are raising entrepreneurial children (should they choose to be) by the very nature of our philosophy; and homeschoolers in general by the way homeschoolers tend to live their lives.

As we facilitate our children's interests and passions, we become many things: director, producer, financier, and chauffeur; brainstormer, map reader, liaison, and advisor; secretary, sales staff, lobbyist, and marketer. Just to name a few.

Most of us don't have credentialed experience in those areas, so we just learn by doing. We learn by our mistakes, we learn by asking others, and we learn by Google (thank youuuu Google). We may never become entirely proficient at some - or even any - of these skills, but for us, success is measured by doing something at least well enough to achieve our goal.

Sometimes that means learning something alongside our children so we are their partner in the process. Sometimes that means bartering - doing what we know best - for services or supplies - to get what "they" know best - when we can't afford something. And sometimes that means getting a job as a fitness instructor, proving you're able and reliable, and garnering enough faith that the club will co-finance your certification so you can teach pilates your own d*mn self, thank you very much.

If you want it, make it happen.

And so it is with the publicity for this conference. I have no degree in marketing or advertising. My experience is limited to what I've learned by working with others. I used Google several times for assistance in crafting a press release that will capture attention (i.e. define the goal of your marketing: to get more attendees? spread awareness? announce an event? What is the 'draw' - why should they give space for your news? Ah - good considerations), and I faked it until I made it.

Receiving emails from homeschooling groups large and small, thanking me for finding them and deeming them worthy of attention ("How did you find us? We're just a tiny little group! No one ever thinks to let us know of these things!"), was rewarding in itself. And when The Daily Herald, suburban Chicago's largest daily, contacted me to do a story, I was pretty darn excited. This is the work of a publicist, so I won't over-celebrate this. But for someone who's shooting from the hip and hoping for the best, it's a pretty fun feather in my cap.

Today's story in The Daily Herald.

And now, I'm due in my first class - Tai Chi.

I wonder if the my fellow cornfield residents would like a tai chi class? Hmmm....

My Oscar Speech

2009-03-06T22:31:00.000-06:00

Don't you ever wish the Oscar winners would get up there do something different than simply listing all the people they want to thank? I get why they have to do that, especially since it takes more than one actor to pull off a big movie. In fact it's quite likely the actor does the *least* amount of work. And then gets all the glory. So I 'spose it's only fitting - and appropriate - that all those behind-the-scenes folks get a shout-out. It's the least the actors can do.

There, I just completely turned around my own thinking. Welcome to the circular ramblings of my mind.

For MY Oscar speech, then, it's only fitting that I thank those who've made this special occasion possible. To Rob, my rock (no, seriously, he is) (see "circular ramblings" above, add "can't make a decision" and, um, ya) - without you I'd be nothing but a schmoopy-whoopy mess. To Brady and Jonathan, my beloved children, who inspire me on a daily basis and give me fodder for the musings on this blog. To my dog, Duchess, for pooping on my rug. Er - wait.

And fo sho I'd like to thank Madeline - a new-ish unschooling friend - whose fiery spirit inspired me the moment I met her. Thank you for your kind words about my blog, Madeline!
Madeline gave me this:

As per her instructions, here are 6 Things that Make Me Happy:

1. Chocolate

2. Springtime

3. Fires in the woodstove

4. Avocados

5. Unschooling

6. Travel

And now to share the wealth... I'm passing this award on to Ginger. Ginger is another new-ish unschooling friend. We only met briefly at the Live and Learn Conference - doing mendhi. :) But here's the thing about Ginger - we connected on Facebook and she sends me the nicest messages. Something about her... she has this beautiful spirit about her, and it infuses everyone she meets with a feel-good vibe. Go have a read - see for yourself.

That's Why She's the Duchess

2009-03-05T22:16:00.000-06:00

The only other estrogen-heavy beings in my house are the dog, Duchess, and the cat, who goes by several names - Kitty, Fluffpot, Miracle, and Minnie - depending upon who's doing the calling.

While the cat is rather sweet (and a little pesky), she's not as lady-like as my dog.

With a name like Duchess, one feels it's prudent to sit with legs crossed at all times.

Even when politely begging to be let out to gnash small rodents to bits.

Life in the Cornfields

2009-03-04T15:06:00.008-06:00

I'm not going to start out by saying, "I'm ba-a-a-ck!" or "Sorry it's been so long since I've posted" or even "Dude, I've missed you!" (Even though I have.) (And the dude thing? I have teenagers.) (Male teenagers).

Have you ever seen a blog post that read "I'm Ba-a-a-ck"? It's a funny thing. You see, when I'm reading a blog, I don't pay any attention to the dates. If I read 6 posts in a row, I have no idea if they were written over 6 days' time or 6 months' time, unless of course there are chronological references built into them. So the "I'm Ba-a-a-ck" thing, while obviously a shout-out to the blog's regular readers, only serves to take up valuable time and space.

Kinda like that last paragraph.

I just wanted you to know that I respect your time. And space. If we were close enough that it'd matter.

What's new in the cornfields....

We attended the Unschoolers Winter Waterpark Gathering in Ohio - five days of unschooling and waterpark fun. I met up with unschooling friends old and new and we had ourselves a grand old time. I even got asked by Debra (thanks Debra!) to speak on her panel for the workshop "Redefining Education." And even though it makes me sweat in that funny nervous sort of way, speaking is fun and a great way to meet people. Here I am right before the workshop - barefoot and mendhi'd to the hilt.

(I love a conference where I can speak barefoot and mendhi'd to the hilt.)

I'd show more pictures of UWWG, but you know - the whole swimsuit thing. I have a rather deep aversion to parading around in my swimsuit. Public pools? Urgh. Public waterparks? *shiver* But I managed. By keeping my camera in its case at all times.

The day after returning from the conference I left for Madison, WI to catch up with my women's circle - some of my favorite women in the whole wide world - who were mid-retreat. We collaged and walked and cooked and ate and laughed and cried and it was oh-so-good, as always, to be together. Here are the retreaters, minus 3 who were unable to come.

*wistful sigh*

The boys have been busy as well. Jonathan has turned into quite the fitness fanatic. He and his dad vowed to exercise every day during the month of January, inspired by the Iron Gym Jonathan got for Christmas from his grandma. And they did. Every day. I know! He's also neck-deep in football books, another passion. Oh and GeoChallenge. GeoChallenge! Have you played GeoChallenge on Facebook? Jonathan got a FB page for the sole purpose of playing that game. He absolutely *kills* at it. For reference - my score is around 3300. His score upwards of 46,000.

The booger.

He now studies maps in his spare time.

Brady's been busy with his new rock band which means every weekend my house is filled with long-legged, big-haired, especially-hungry teenaged boys.... and their gear.

Strange sounds erupt from my basement (they play screamo) and sleeping bags cover all available floor space. It's been a ton of fun.

I'm buying lots of bacon.

Brady is also polishing his recording skills...

and since he's teaching two workshops on video game creation at the InHome Conference this weekend, he practiced on our local homeschooling group.

Other big news... Rob bought into his agency so he's now a business owner! He's part-owner, which so far equals more responsibility as well as more debt. But that's ok - we love debt! It's the American way, isn't it?
He bought me pink roses for Valentine's Day.

I love pink roses.

I've been painting. If we're friends on Facebook (and if not, why not?) you may already know that I fired myself from ever picking out paint colors ever again. Ever. I was so sure I liked my color choices, but then I got to painting and realized I hated the blue. Hated it. Loathed it. It looked like I'd spread toothpaste on my walls. (Crest Regular, if you need specifics like my mom and sister did.) But the crazy thing? I kept painting. I wasn't sure about it, I was liking it less and less, and yet there I went - paint paint paint, brush brush brush, roll roll roll - across three walls and into the bathroom sink area, all the while my heart pounding harder and harder.

Really, I'm obviously a half-brick short of a load.

I was hoping it'd grow on me. I was worrying that I'd already spent all that money. And I didn't trust myself to choose another color when I'd screwed up the first choice so fully and royally.

But then I went to Sherwin Williams and laid out my tale of painting-woe to the designer there. And she knew just where I'd gone wrong. The blue looks terrible against my woodwork, said she, and even though I'd already grabbed some replacement possibilities of sage-y greens, she marched straight to the earthy tones, chose two, and said, "These."

Not trusting myself at all by this point, I immediately donned the submissive role and bought samples of those two colors. I took them home. I eagerly slapped them onto my walls.

I hated them.

Redemption is mine!

I returned to the original store the following day, spent a good portion of my day holding up paint samples against a sage green curtain I liked, bought three, brought them home, painted squares on 3 walls, and voila - I like two of the three!

I'm rehired! Getting fired was really hard on the ego.

The purple is good.
And the rest of my walls - including the boys' bathroom downstairs - look like this:

I will resume painting next week. I've waited 12 years to get color on my walls, what's another few days? Besides, I'm tired, it's cold, and the dog pooped on my rug this morning.

And no, I haven't yet painted the boys' bathroom. But seeing as I painted 4 different colors on the bathroom wall - so I could see my new choices on a blank palette - I'd say it's just about to get done. Right on schedule!

Ahem.

It's Showtime!

2009-02-09T07:55:00.003-06:00

Being interviewed on the Relaxed Homeskooler Blog Talk Radio show in 5.... 4.... 3.... 2....

If you missed it (and why wouldn't you, what with my 5 second notice and all), you can listen to it here.

Mendhi in the Making

2009-02-07T09:08:00.003-06:00

Not What it Looks Like

2009-02-06T12:52:00.003-06:00

Not heroin...Henna.

Let the Mendhi Begin

2009-02-05T11:52:00.006-06:00

We are at the UWWG in Ohio and several of us have become absolutely obsessed with doing mendhi. By the looks of this picture, I should be putting henna in my hair. Holy gray.

Stay tuned.... there is more to come. BELIEVE me. :)

A Man Walked into a Bar...

2009-02-03T13:59:00.001-06:00

Shrek, Brad Pitt and Halle Berry were all having lunch together.

Shrek said, "I have always thought that I'm the strongest man in the world, but how can I be sure?"

Brad Pitt said, "I'm pretty sure I'm the hottest man alive but I've never had it confirmed."

Halle Berry agreed. "I'm told I'm the sexiest of them all, but sometimes I wonder."

They all decided that the best way to find out if their beliefs were true was to approach the wicked queen's mirror to confirm for them that Shrek was the strongest, Brad Pitt was the hottest and Halle Berry was the sexiest. They agreed to meet again the next day for lunch to discuss their findings.

The next day Shrek walked up with a smile. "Well, it's true. The mirror told me that I am the strongest man in the world."

Brad Pitt followed and boasted, "It is true, it has been confirmed that I am the hottest man alive!"

Halle Berry walked in, head bent, tears in her eyes and asked, "Who in the hell is Laura Flynn Endres???"

*giggle*
************
On another note.... Guess where we are? UWWG, baby.

We're Pretty Forward Like That - All 6 of Us

2009-02-02T22:24:00.000-06:00

So on Friday night I hosted a Meet-and-Greet so my siblings and I could meet our new soon-to-be step-siblings.

And since our mom and their dad sprang the whole engagement thing on us quite out of the blue...

They weren't invited to the Meet-and-Greet.

We all figured it's much easier to talk freely and frankly about people when they're not present. And it was.

Let's just say there was no beating around the bush at this party.

Dancing is a Problem? Really?

2009-01-31T23:33:00.001-06:00

We Did

2009-01-20T19:22:00.002-06:00

Why Barack is 'Ours'

by Gayle Danley

Ours

My Aunt Ruth isn't doing very well
94 and the light that used to flicker behind her eyes is slipping

I hope she lives long enough to see this:
Thousands upon millions on top of multitudes of us of America Women and daddies and
babies wrapped well against the District's cold

And the children- who had the vision first
carried it home, believed in what was possible more than what was probable

When I was 4
Aunt Ruth and I stood staring at ourselves in her dresser mirror

The last hope of daylight spread over her yellow cheekbones

I had turned her into a big Barbie

Put barrettes and yarn
in her black satin hair

"Aunt Ruth, are you White?"
slipped irresistibly from my innocent lips

Her mouth did not answer
Her eyes did
written on them the harsh decades she had served army men lunch at Fort McPherson
pinching nickels to send me North to school

She revelled in her race and never once seemed
to wish to be anything else

Aunt Ruth won't be there on Tuesday
The journey's way too long
the air too frigid
She won't see a beautiful Brown man become what she always knew was possible

the reason
she sacrificed a big life to feed hungry men and hope for a small retirement check

But we'll be there
You'll be there, right?
He'll be there
carrying all our dreams in his hands
pride in his eyes

I hope he waves at the children and the old ones like my Aunt Ruth whose faith and dreams
made this moment ours.

Tree of Happiness (With a Side of Silly)

2009-01-19T22:17:00.002-06:00

I got an award! I got an award!

(Fun Bit of Useless Piscesgrrl-Trivia for you: Whenever I say something like "I got an award!", I say it in the cadence Eddie Murphy used when he chanted his famous 'ice cream' bit during his stand-up show, Delirious. If you saw it, you can hear my "I got an a-war-d, you didn't ge-et one" going on. Look - I don't mean it, but there it is.)

(Fun Bit of Useless Piscesgrrl-Trivia part II: We got my mom to let us watch Eddie Murphy's Delirious at my 15th birthday slumber party by saying, "It's not that bad - just a few swear words.") (Sorry Mom.)

ANYhow, Heart Rockin Mama gave me this cool award yesterday - thanks Heart Rockin Mama! It's the 'Tree of Happiness' award and I'm to list 6 things that make me happy.

Only six? :)

Would you like the serious version or the silly version?

I don't know why I always have to be a smart-*ss. It just comes naturally to me. It really does. Growing up, during the entire ride to Grandma's house my mom would implore, "Now Honey, you don't have to 'act' - you can just be yourself and have fun!"

As soon as we'd get in the door, I'd be acting loopy and show-offish. Maybe that WAS being myself.

Things haven't changed much since then. I recently attended a workshop given by a friend who's the resident "JOY" lady. She writes about joy, speaks about joy, and has the word JOY tattooed on her wrist. She's down-right joyful, people!

During her workshop she asked us to write down 3 things we like about ourselves. "Ok, I thought - easy enough." I diligently began:

1. my life
2. my writing
3. my boobs

When I leaned to my left to giggle in my friend's ear and show her my answers (and like a good partner in crime she replied, "OMG - I thought of the same kind of thing!" LOVE my fellow smart-*sses, I do), the JOY lady asked if she'd need to separate us two. Jokingly, of course. "No no, I'll be good," I promised.

But then she asked us to push ourselves a bit, and expand our list of things we like about ourselves from 3 to 30. Thirty! Whoa.

1. my life
2. my writing
3. my left boob
4. my right boob

At that point I somehow decided to lean over to the right and share my oh-so-hilarious answers with the woman sitting next to me. She happened to be the wife of a well-known local political activist - an activist with whom I'd participated in all sorts of sobering and serious activities like Amnesty International letter-writing campaigns and Iraq war protests and workshops on how to prepare for getting arrested at said protests. I didn't know his wife and this is how I chose to introduce myself.

I couldn't really tell if she was amused or not.

But because Heart Rockin Mama is a good soul, and an unschooler, and inspires me and many others with the writing on her blog, I'll behave myself.

6 things that make me happy:

1. My life.

Sure, we have our ups and downs, and nothing's ever perfect per se, but I have to admit that I have a very blessed life. I really do. I get to be home with my kids, thanks to my hard-working husband. I get to unschool with them and be witness to and partake in their inspiration and learning and fun and aha moments. I have a cozy home and wide-open yard and family nearby and good food to eat. I'm blessed with amazing friends, a close family, and a strong marriage. And while I might occasionally chew someone's ear, b*tching about this or that (here's looking at you, Sis) or whine that it's a bit lonely in the cornfields or wonder what I'm going to do with myself when I grow up and my kids leave me (Waahhhh), all in all - it's a d*mn fine life.

2. See above

3. See #1

4. See #1

5. See #1

6. My *ss is looking pretty tight after all this working out I've been doing.

Look, I'm jus' sayin'.

______________________

And now I will go forth and bestow this mighty fine award on other good folks! So many to choose from... Here's a sampling of some of the coolest blogging mamas on the web:

1. Kim at Relaxed Homeskool for recognizing me at last year's conference and saying hello, being a kool homeskooling mama, and creating a wonderful talk radio program for homeskoolers.

2. Debra at From Skilled Hands because she posts My Town Mondays, gives away lovely, lovely art, and when she found out I, too, was going to UWWG asked if I'd join her panel presentation. Can't wait to meet up!

3. Lynn at a life worth living because she has steadily and with intention embarked upon an unschooling journey. And because being from the United Kingdom, she says things like "mum" and "whilst" and "more the clobber" and "I toppled down." Love that.

4. K. at Duff ABC's because she blogs about things like her grandma's fudge pecan pie. OMG - get over there and make that!

5. peacegoddess over yonder at Patchouli and the Porch because she just started blogging again too. Yay!

6. and finally, Kelly at she's in transition because that way I can say I linked to her twice in one week while she only linked to me (doing cheerleader moves of all things) once. It's good to have one up on Kelly at all times.

Go forth and be happy! And thanks again Heart Rockin Mama!

This One's for Kelly

2009-01-18T18:32:00.003-06:00

I'm SURE you already know by now that Kelly, of She's in Transition, recently featured me in all my former-cheerleader glory on her blog. I don't know how she found out I was a cheerleader in a former life. I guess it might've been part of our pre-nuptual preparation or something, since we just know that if we ever manage to meet in real life, we're gonna be, like, way tight. ("Way-ay-ay-ay TIGHT!" *hold-2-3-4*)

Sorry. Sometimes my alter-cheerleader-ego appears at the oddest times.

The universe tends to work in mysterious ways though, and the recent reappearance of my old cheerleading photos, among other ancient childhood artifacts, was quite appropros in more than one way.

The teenage daughter of a friend found her mom's old eye glasses, put them on, and made a video for Facebook that worked along the lines of, "I wonder whose glasses these are? These big, dorky glasses? How do I look? Whose could these be?" I cringed for my friend and left a comment along the lines of "Sweet Jesus - keep those girls away from my childhood bedroom closet!"

Then an old friend posted my Sheena Easton wannabe photo, quite out of the blue, on his facebook page, unleashing quite the firestorm of comments.

And then, as if on cue, my mom showed up at my front door with 3 armloads of stuff. Old stuff. From my childhood bedroom closet. OY.

The pile sat. It sat 3 feet inside my front door for several days before I could muster the courage to take a look. And the odd thing is no one else noticed the pile even existed. This amazing feat - that my 3 boys can be so oblivious to a change in their surroundings - can be both a blessing (there were old love letters in there) and a curse (they'll step over an obstacle course of strewn items without ever noticing, much less picking anything up).

And so it was really only another bit of karmic magic that Kelly's cheerleader post appeared when it did. Somebody, somewhere, is having a good laugh.

The other day, home-bound with a sinus infection that could choke a walrus, I finally peeked into the stash of old memories. Several things were immediately used to stoke the woodburning stove. (Dear gawd, did I pledge my undying love for HIM?!?) (Ew!) (Double Ew!) (Like, ew to the fifth power!)

But others... others elicited sighs, laughter, and amazement. We thought we'd never forget those things. And yet... I did. I forgot about almost all of it.

So this one's for you, Kelly. (Cue Budweiser jingle.) For loving me even though I was a cheerleader in a former life.

My mom had the BEST idea. She suggested I hang all these old photos on a wall in our newly finished basement.

Rob just got one of those looks when I suggested it... one of those looks that suggest he just smelled something rather foul...

Teens Who Cook

2009-01-16T14:30:00.001-06:00

I got two teens - Brady and his best friend Ben - to cook homemade french fries and, even better, sweet potato fries for me. Ben shared that he knew how.

He might think twice about giving out information like that from now on.

I love teens cooking in my kitchen.

A Picture a Day Keeps the Crickets at Bay (Wow - Lame)

2009-01-16T13:40:00.004-06:00

I DON'T HAVE TO BLOG IF I DON'T WANT TO!

Dharmamama said so. And in case you were wondering, when Dharmamama speaks, I listen.

It would seem my muse has done gone and left me. (The tramp.) I'm still writing, though. I'm in charge of PR for both our community theatre's current show and our statewide homeschooling conference, so I've been busy emailing, writing press releases, emailing, creating programs, emailing, and emailing. Oy - the emailing! YOU try and email over 200 homeschooling groups in IL and surrounding states, not to mention every library in the state - twice! - and see if you have anything left for the ol' blog.

I've also been busy working on a freelance article or two, getting the kids to and from their various engagements, and arm-wrestling Brady over who gets the car that day. Having another driver makes my life both easier and far more difficult. I've also been doing the Facebook thing. If you haven't caught up with me there yet, you're missing out. Seriously - my current status update is "Laura could jump in the fray. But won't." How can you go another day without knowing such things?

So maybe I'll keep the engine warm on this here blog by posting some pictures. That's not a bad way to keep the home fires burning but not over-exert myself, right? Unfortunately, even this simple task may be more challenging than usual - a few weeks ago all my photos disappeared from Picasa. (Dear Picasa experts - help!) After the resulting nervous break-down, I'm now, with the help of my therapist, slowly getting ready to try again.

But to start off this photo frenzy, I don't need no stinkin' Picasa. (Take that, Picasa, you mean old photo-deleter!) Today's photo appeared unexpectedly on Facebook, in the photos section of an old friend from high school. I have no idea how he even got this particular photo and it cracked me right up when it appeared.

I fondly call this, "Sheena Easton Called - She Wants Her Hair Back."

Me, circa 1987

Someone Could've Said SOMEthing...

2008-12-27T21:38:00.000-06:00

Dear Family,

Just so you know, I can take it. I mean, I'd rather you tell me than I walk around all day, oblivious, while people avert their eyes and snicker about me around corners while I'm standing there on display. I mean, I'd snicker about me around corners too, but then I'd muster the courage to confront the poor unsuspecting soul and put her out of her fashion-faux-pas misery. Then I'd laugh at her around another corner. But at least I'd have told her.

I will be hanging the following on my bathroom mirror:

Fashion rule #1 - do not wear a light-colored bra under a thin, red top.

Christmas Came to the Cornfields

2008-12-25T09:41:00.006-06:00

Christmas came to the cornfields. And boy, did it ever make an entrance.

We not only had a white Christmas, we had a White-OUT on Christmas Eve. For the first time in recent memory we had difficulty getting to Madison for Christmas Eve festivities. We woke to 3 inches of new snow, which, when added to the previous eight-gazillion inches, made for treacherous roads.

Never one to shy away from a wee bit of hazzardous driving conditions - one doesn't grow up in cornfield country and end up soft - we loaded up and ventured out.

And promptly fish-tailed toward the ditch about 14.7 feet from the end of our driveway.

Along with Christmas came the usual merriment...

Shopping with my nieces and painting our hair blue...

Piles of cousins...

Piles of presents....

Music making....

And the requisite "What did YOU get from Santa?" conversation that begins immediately upon arrival at Grandma's. (Guess what little Armando got?)

There was also, of course, the drooling over the only-made-on-Christmas Sugarplum Coffee Cake, which is BEYOND tasty.... and not fattening at ALL. At least that's what I keep telling my thighs as I down another morsel.

And the serving of the traditional Christmas brunch. Elves go first.

This elf is about to graduate from elven school, now that he's received cologne, gas cards, and a set of car keys for Christmas. Wah!

Add in a little Rock Band....

And it was a very merry Christmas indeed.

From our family to yours, may your days be merry, your hearts filled with love, and your thighs flabby. (That's only so I'll feel better about mine, you understand.)

In Our House

2008-12-07T21:14:00.000-06:00

In our house, any pleasure we receive from our netflix rentals is offset by the following stream of anxiety from Rob:

"Did you watch the movie yet?"
"We have to mail the movies back."
"Did you put the movies in the mail?"
"Did you watch the movie yet?"
"When do you think you'll get around to watching the movie?"
"Where'd you put the movie mailer?"
"Did you watch the movie yet?"
"Tell me you didn't lose the movie mailer."
"Are the movies in the mail yet?"
"Why didn't you watch the movie yet?"
"Did you watch the movie yet?"

*sputter*
*choke*
*faint*

A Shout Out to Mothers of Many

2008-12-06T22:17:00.001-06:00

Today I'd like to pay homage to an overlooked, underappreciated, undercelebrated and underestimated segment of society - mothers of many. And by many, I mean any more than two, which, when in addition to my husband, seems to me to be plenty difficult, thanks. You see, I have my nieces and nephews over for the day, and I've spent the past few hours doing nothing but putting on socks, taking off socks, making enough organic macaroni and cheese to feed an entire army brigade, gathering snow clothes, putting on snow clothes, taking off snow clothes, adjusting snow clothes, pinning snow clothes so they'll stay on right, pulling snowpants legs over boots, stuffing feet into boots, stuffing hands (finger by finger) into gloves, tying boots, finding hats, zipping coats, finding toys, wiping counters, wiping puddles, and wiping butts. I'm sorry about the butts thing, but it's important enough to mention - trust me on this.

I don't know how mothers of big families do it, I really don't. The utterance of the simplest phrase - like, say, "Loh-wa, I'm hungry" - sets off a series of events that are mind-boggling in their capacity to disable even the most proficient multi-tasker. The inequality between energy output and energy input is rather astounding as well. The kids play their games while waiting for the snack-turned-full-out-meal to be made, but the mother's part of the deal is not as simple as that, oh no it's not. They can't reach the game on the shelf. They can't figure out how to set up the game. And someone didn't want to play that particular game in the first place so he's staging a stand-off. So-and-so went out of turn on the game. And so-and-so got to go first LAST time and it's not fair! Oh, and there's always a butt-wiping session in there somewhere, too. Always there is that. (Honey? Please note the addition of gas mask to my Christmas list.) All the while, the wee ones smile up at me and ask, innocently, "Is the food ready yet?"

Now don't get me wrong - I adore my nieces and nephews. I love having them here. We do all sorts of fun things and they're a joy to have around. I'm not complaining. And while I'm a bit frazzled, it's not in a mean-aunt sort of way. I'm simply amazed that there are mothers who do this day in and day out. And I have a few questions for them. First off, how? In the name of all things holy, how do you manage this every day?

Do you mainline caffeine every morning? Do you channel an inner Artemis, Goddess of Power? Are you some sort of freak of nature? I'm sorry, that didn't come out right. I mean 'freak of nature' in the best possible survival-of-the-fittest, top-of-the-food-chain, you-rock sort of way.

And now, while I'd love to wax on longer about the remarkable strength, patience, and fortitude of women who have more than two children - god/dess knows they deserve it - I have to go.

The kids are ready to come back in after 6.2 nanoseconds of playing in the snow.